


Once Upon a Dream

by mahbecks



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Background Relationships, Chill XV, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Politics, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: Things were going very, very poorly for Lucis.They were in the middle of a war with the Empire. Someone was trying to assassinate the King, Insomnia was running out of food, the Crystal's magic was waning, and all the while, the Lucian nobility were circling round the throne like vultures, ready to take advantage of young Prince Noctis, only recently come of age.In short, it was hardly the time to be throwing masquerade balls. Or so Ignis Scientia thought.But that was before he met a charming, handsome stranger lingering in the gardens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heeeeeeeeeey, here I am, shamelessly starting another long fic because I can't help myself. 
> 
> This one's a little different, based loosely on a lot of fairy tales I read as a kid growing up. Super tropey. Fluffy. With a dash of politics thrown in for good measure. 
> 
> I guess this could be called an AU? In this universe, there is a war ongoing between Lucis and Niflheim. A more traditional war, with staged battles and assassination attempts and political machinations - that sort of thing. So there is no road trip to go get Luna, and no wild crazy ride to go take down Ardyn. But other than that, the universe remains largely the same. 
> 
> Title SHAMELESSLY taken from the song "Once Upon a Dream" by Lana del Rey for the movie Maleficent.

_This_ , Ignis thought to himself, _was stupid_. 

Logically, he understood that hosting a party for Noctis’ twentieth birthday was nothing unusual. It was quite normal, really, expected even. His charge was the prince of Lucis, and royal birthdays were always nothing short of an extravagant celebration.

This was also a birthday of special significance, for at twenty years of age, Noctis was officially considered an adult in the eyes of the law. He could begin to take on more responsibilities, alleviate some of the pressure the King was facing, both from the nobility and from the war with Niflheim. Such a momentous occasion was thus due cause for a party.

But did it _have_ to be a masquerade?

For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Ignis adjusted the mask on his face, pushing it higher upon the bridge of his nose the way he normally would have adjusted his spectacles. The disguise was cumbersome and hot, feathers and sequins scratching at his skin. How he longed to rip it off, to throw it in the garbage and never wear it again. It wasn’t as if he needed it, the magical elixir he’d taken earlier having sufficed to partially transform his appearance into that of some great black bird.

And yet, he knew he couldn’t take the mask off, for that would be a terrible breach of manners, a violation of the social contract these sorts of events imposed upon its guests.

He sighed, taking a delicate sip of the drink Noctis had ordered for him when they'd first arrived. It was terribly sweet, not at all to his tastes, and yet the alcohol was doing its job just the same, dulling his senses just enough to make this insufferable event bearable.  

How he wished that he had someone to talk to - alas, but Noctis was surrounded by a circle of fawning noblemen and women, all wishing him a happy birthday and asking what his plans for the kingdom were. Noctis, Ignis was proud to see, was maintaining his composure rather well, though he did look slightly overwhelmed by it all. That was to be expected, of course - the Lucian aristocracy were nothing if not vultures. They circled around newcomers, waiting for an opening to take advantage of, and while Noctis was hardly new to the kingdom’s political scene, he was quite green as a player in the machinations of the game.

Ignis would have helped him, but it wasn’t his place to politic _for_ Noctis. This was something the prince had to do on his own. Ignis could do nothing but trust that the lessons he had attempted to instill in Noctis as a child had taken.

“He’s doing well.”

Ignis turned to find the King at his elbow, leaning heavily on his cane as he smiled fondly at his son. Of all the partygoers, he and Noctis alone wore no disguises, dressed instead in the form-fitting black uniforms that signified royalty in Lucis.

Ignis swept himself down into a low bow. “Sire,” he murmured, setting his drink on a nearby table.

“A little reserved, I think, but that’s to be expected,” Regis continued. “This is the first time they’ll have asked him his political opinions, after all. Before it was all well wishes and ruffling his hair.” He chuckled, as if the mental image his words conjured amused him. “You’ve trained him well, Ignis.”

“I have done what I could, your Majesty,” Ignis replied.

“More than that,” Regis said. “I doubt anyone could have done a finer job.”

“You flatter me.”

Regis snorted. “Take the compliment, Ignis.”

“...yes, sire.”

The King turned to him then, studying the tense set of his jaw and stiff posture. “And what of you? You aren’t enjoying yourself?”

“Is it that obvious?” Ignis asked, smiling sheepishly.

“Only to someone who spends time with you.” Regis accepted a champagne flute from a server dressed as a scarlet songbird, nodding when the man bowed at him. “Personally, I don’t much care for these things either. It all feels like a charade, no?”

That was precisely Ignis’ problem with it. Disguises, elaborate costumes, the masks… though it was meant to be festive, whimsical, there was a sinister undercurrent to the whole thing, a certain air of mystery that wasn't entirely benign. He couldn’t help but wonder who was underneath the heavy gilt and feathered headdresses. It would be so easy for an assassin from the Empire to slip through the security, for someone disgruntled with the war to pass amongst the nobility, unnoticed. The potential havoc such an attack could wreak was something Ignis didn't care to think about.

And that was only speaking of the external threats, giving no consideration to what threats to the royal family might lie within the kingdom itself.

“Much as I hate the fuss, it’s necessary. I have to keep them happy, Ignis, keep them preoccupied with events like this, where they can discuss marriages and scandals and business contracts, lest they focus too much on the war and how poorly things are going.”

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” Ignis said, nodding.  

“You understand,” Regis said approvingly. “It’s all a game, Ignis, a very dangerous game. I cannot afford to make a mistake. I cannot afford to miss anything.”

“If I hear anything, sire, the slightest whisper, I will inform you immediately.” 

The King nodded, finally bringing his glass to his lips and taking a drink. “I would expect no less of you,” he said. “Would that the rest of my men were so observant.”

“Are they not?” Ignis asked, slightly alarmed by the King’s admission.

“Too many new faces,” Regis rued, shaking his head. “Too many of my veterans lost, or sent to the front lines as ranked officers to command the soldiers. We’ve had to bolster the ranks of the guard, and though Cor is doing his best with them, the training is slow going at best.”

“Ah.”

“The security around myself and Noctis is as secure as ever, though,” the King continued. “Clarus hardly lets me out of his sight.” He paused, smiling to himself. “Perhaps I should invite him into my bed. He already sleeps on the floor, after he thinks I’ve fallen asleep for the night. This way, at least, he’d wake up less grumpy.”

Ignis had no idea how to reply to such a statement, and so he picked up his drink and took a large sip, wincing at the sheer sweetness of it.

“His son is in charge of Noctis’ security. Gladiolus. Have you ever met him?”

“Once or twice, sire.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration. Ignis had met Gladiolus _once_ about ten years ago, when they’d been placed in the same martial arts lessons with the Marshal. It had quickly been discovered that the two of them didn’t get along, and so Ignis had been sent off to a different instructor.

He’d not spoken to Gladiolus - or seen him, really - since.

“He’s made some recent changes,” Regis continued, “Things he thinks will confuse anyone who might be spying on Noctis. Even I don’t know of them all.” He smiled. “Safer that way.”

Ignis nodded. It made sense - the fewer people that were aware of the prince’s security, the better. There was simply less room for error that way.

“You might get in contact with him, see if the two of you can work together for his protection.”

Ignis had to choke back the laughter that threatened to bubble from his lips. If taking his mask off would have been considered gauche, laughing at his liege lord would be downright abominable.

But it was just such a ridiculous notion, really - him and Gladiolus, working together?

They hadn’t lasted ten minutes together as children. He sincerely doubted that they would get along any better as adults.

He couldn’t tell Regis that, of course. The King’s suggestion was as good as an order, in Ignis’ eyes. No, he would have to swallow his pride and discomfort, and make the attempt to reach out to Gladiolus.

Unfortunately.

“I’ll ask Noctis for his phone number,” Ignis said.

“Good!”

Having finished his champagne, the King set his empty glass on a nearby table. “Well, I must get back to things,” he said, clapping Ignis on the shoulder. “Leave them alone for too long, and the nobles start _plotting._ Ignis.”

“Sire.”

Ignis waited until the King was once more surrounded by nobles before turning and disappearing into the crowds, intent upon finding a secluded spot from where he could observe the crowds. Were he forced to attend this masquerade, the least he could do was make good on his promise to the King and be on the lookout for suspicious behavior. Parties, where the alcohol flowed freely and lips spoke a little more loosely, were an ideal place to begin.

But where to situate himself?

The bars were too obvious, and besides, no one lingered for too long, returning to their own social circles once they’d procured a drink.

One of the side balconies? Draped with twinkling fairy lights and ivy, they certainly provided enough privacy for him to sit unnoticed. He walked over to one, trying to find an unoccupied alcove, but to his frustration, he quickly found that the balconies were a tad _too_ isolated, all sound muted to the point of near silence.

Pursing his lips, Ignis turned and made for the bar, thinking hard on where he could go.

“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender, a young woman disguised as a bluebird, asked him.

“Scotch, neat, if you will,” Ignis replied.

The woman nodded, selecting a bottle and pouring a few inches of brown alcohol into a glass. “Here you are,” she said, setting the drink onto a napkin and pushing it towards him.

“My thanks,” Ignis said, nodding.

He walked off to the side, carefully maintaining his distance from the dancing floor. That was the _last_ place that he wished to end up this evening. Where the balconies were too quiet, the dance floor would be altogether too loud, and the heat and stench of perfume sprayed too heavily on sweating bodies was something he would rather avoid.

Instead, he drifted, allowing his feet to take him along the paths of least resistance through the ballroom. He smiled and made pleasantries at those who passed him by, ignoring those who ignored him. All the while, he kept his ears peeled for unusual, suspicious words and hushed, secretive tones - anything that would suggest foul play. He was almost disappointed when all that he managed to overhear were the normal, vapid conversations these sorts of parties invited.

Frustrated, Ignis took an abrupt side path that he knew led to a garden terrace. The sudden fresh air was a shock to his system, and he shivered a little, the thin silk of his costume doing nothing to protect him from the chill. It was refreshing, though, and he found that he didn’t mind the cool air, moving to sit on a stone bench across the way.

It was beautiful out here, he had to admit. The trellises that served as walls were covered with flowering columbines, the purples and pinks of their petals muted by the moonlight. A lone fountain stood in the center of the garden, water softly tinkling down into a marble basin filled with lilypads, and fairy lights were strung on silver strands overhead, like stars come down from the sky.

He could have reached out and touched one if he’d wanted.

“You hiding too?”

Ignis turned sharply, surprised. A man was standing off to the left, leaning against a trellis, arms crossed over his chest.

“My apologies,” Ignis said. “I didn’t see you there.”

The man shrugged. “Not your fault,” he said. “I kinda blend in with the scenery. It's why I chose the place.” He stepped forward then, and Ignis saw that his costume was that of a starling, the glossy black and green feathers and silk of his costume melding almost perfectly with the dark vines at his back.

He was large, moving with the liquid grace of a warrior as he stepped forward and sat down next to Ignis on the bench.

Ignis studied his features, attempting to place this man as one of the many faces that he saw on a regular basis around the Citadel. But his skin was all but concealed by his dark clothing, his hair likewise hidden by a magical elixir he’d no doubt taken earlier, and his mask hung low over his eyes, obscuring them from view.

It would have been frustrating, were Ignis’ identity not equally concealed. As it was, the secrecy of it all added an air of mystique to the encounter, and Ignis allowed himself to dare to be curious.

“You said that you were hiding? From what, may I ask?”

The man snorted. “Everything.”

Ignis smiled in commiseration. “It would seem we have something in common, then.”

“I hate these types of things,” the man continued. “Everyone _wants_ something from you, only they won’t come out and just say what it is.”

“Instead you’re left guessing, trying to mince words with them and hope you come up the victor,” Ignis said, nodding.

“It’s like a game.” 

“Very much so.”

“A game with really high stakes, where no one’s told you the rules.”

“That’s politics for you.”

“Not my thing.” The man turned to look at Ignis then, and though Ignis couldn’t see his eyes, he could feel the appraisal in that gaze. “You though - you seem like the type to fit right in here.”

“And why is that?” Ignis asked, curious.

The man shrugged. “Just a feeling,” he said.

Ignis said nothing, not wanting to give up too much information about himself. The truth was that, yes, he was very much able to fit in amongst these sorts of crowds. He could hold his own amongst the nobility, his sharp wit and extensive education giving him the ability to spar with the even the craftiest members of the Lucian elite.

But he didn’t want a stranger knowing that about him.

“You seem familiar.”

Ignis looked up, surprised. “Do I?” he asked, fighting the urge to adjust his mask.

It was impossible, he knew - the elixir had disguised him perfectly, his every feature blurred or concealed, and he had taken the extra precaution of suppressing his accent, affecting a slow, lazy drawl that he knew was common in the deserts of Leide. He had abandoned the pretense in front of the King, of course, but as soon as he had left his liege’s side, his carefully crafted disguise had returned, and he had kept it ever since.  

There was no way that this man could recognize him.

And yet…

The way he was looking at Ignis made him feel vulnerable, as if he was being laid bare before the man. The thought should have disturbed him, but all Ignis felt was a burning desire to know more about this man, to ask him more questions.

It must have been boredom, he decided. That was the explanation for his boldness.  

“Well, I don’t think I know you,” Ignis said finally.

“No? Huh. Maybe it’s just me.” He smiled at Ignis, white teeth glinting. “Still, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who hates these things,” he added, nudging Ignis.

“Misery does love company.” Ignis raised his glass of scotch to his lips, taking a drink.

“Now there’s an idea,” the man said. He nodded to Ignis’ glass and reached into a pocket, pulling out a small metal flask. “Booze.” He put it to his lips, taking a swig, and then offered it to Ignis.

“No, thank you,” Ignis said. “I still have my own to finish, and I dare not drink too much.”

The man shrugged. “More for me.”

“Careful,” Ignis said, watching as the man took one, two, three more gulps of the liquid. “I doubt your superior would be pleased to hear you were drinking on the job.”

“Hey, just a little liquid courage.”

“What, pray tell, do you need courage for?”

“Tell you in a minute.”

Ignis pursed his lips, a little annoyed.

“And, for the record, my superior doesn’t care how much I drink on the job, so long as I _get_ the job done.”

“Which is?”

“Security.”

“Ah. I presumed as much.”

“Muscles give it away, huh?”

“More the sheer size of you,” Ignis said, eyeing the man’s large frame with an appreciative eye. Though he had to admit, the man was also _very_ well-muscled. It was the sort of physical excellence that required years of dedication and effort, something Ignis had never managed to achieve despite his best efforts as a youth, dreaming of wielding a sword larger than he was. He, it seemed, was more suited to long, lean muscle, the type you might see on a professional gymnast.

But Ignis was perfectly alright with that. It meant people underestimated him, and he was quick to use that to his advantage.  

“And you’re… what… some aristocrat’s kid? Not from here though... your accent's not Insomnian.”

Ignis shrugged. If that was what the man wanted to think, let him.

“No, now that I think about it, that’s not it… that ain’t the vibe I’m getting from you. It’s more…” The man’s eyes, dark and barely visible, narrowed. “Hmm. Yeah, that’s it.”

Ignis frowned. “What’s it?” he asked.

The man grinned. “Tell you later,” he said, deflecting again.

Ignis sighed. "So secretive."

"Makes me mysterious," the man said, chuckling. 

Ignis couldn't deny that, for there was a certain... aura about the man. And the strangest part was that instead of feeling apprehensive or uncomfortable, it made him feel… exhilarated. He should have gone by now, leaving this stranger behind, and yet he had no desire to do so. As they continued to talk, speaking of nothing particularly important, Ignis found that there was something magnetic about him, some intangible, compelling quality that was drawing Ignis towards him like a moth to a flame. He hung on to the man’s every word, listening to each sentence with bated breath, leaping at each chance to respond.

It was ridiculous, he knew. He didn’t know who this man was, or if he was telling the truth. He could be lying through his teeth, and Ignis would never know it.

He should have been appalled at how calm he felt, with how natural it felt to be sharing so much with a complete stranger.

Instead, he felt warm all over, buoyant, his spirits soaring somewhere above his head, mingling with the fairy lights.

“So, hey.”

Ignis blinked, startled to find the man suddenly much closer to him, scant inches away from his face. When had that happened, he wondered? When had their bodies moved so close together, knees and shoulders almost touching?

“What are you doing after this?”

“After?” Ignis repeated blankly.

“Yeah. Got any plans?”

“Why?”

“Wanna grab a beer? Dump these ridiculous outfits and go out someplace normal? I know a few spots.”

Ignis froze, heart thudding hard in his chest.

“Are you… asking me out?”

The man smiled. “Like I said earlier,” he said, lifting the flask. “Liquid courage.”

Ignis was pleased despite himself, fighting to hide a smile. “I don’t even know your name,” he said.

“Hey, what are first dates for?”

It was a joke, and Ignis chuckled as he was meant to. “I shouldn’t.”

“Me neither.”

Ignis looked up, surprised.

“What? I know you think is sketchy, and hell, it is. But… I dunno, you feel it, right? This… thing we have going on?”

“I feel it,” Ignis murmured.

“I don’t get a lot of those feelings - those weird, gut feelings that tell you there’s something you just gotta do. I get ‘em maybe once a year. And I’ll admit, I don’t always know what I’m doing when I act on impulse like that - but I’ve never regretted it.”

“And this, I take it, is one of those times?”

“Yeah.” The man’s voice was warm, breathless with anticipation, almost. “It is, I think.”

“Well, in that case-”

A bell started chiming then, loud claxons announcing the stroke of midnight, and the official beginning of the prince’s twentieth birthday.

Ignis jumped to his feet, startled, shocked back to his senses. He couldn’t be here, he realized, brushing off his costume with a hand shaking with nerves. He had to be inside, at Noctis’ side, ready to aid him as the prince prepared to address the crowds, to thank them for their gifts and well wishes. It was a terrible breach of his duty for Ignis to be outside, talking - no, _flirting_ \- with a stranger.

“I must go,” he murmured, setting off towards the door.

“Hey, wait-”

“No,” Ignis snapped, “I can’t. I need to leave.”

“Why? It’s just the clock.”

“I’ve tarried here too long,” Ignis said, shrinking away from the man even as he approached. “There are - things I must do, responsibilities.”

“And you can’t… push ‘em away for a night?”

Ignis shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I mustn’t.”

The man stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. It was a reluctant movement, Ignis noted, the man's entire posture reflecting his disappointment. He wasn't the only one who didn't want this night to end, then. 

He wasn't the only one so affected.

But now the man was nodding, backing away from Ignis. “Okay,” he said. "You gotta go."

“My apologies,” Ignis said. “I lost track of the time. I was... distracted.”

“Was it a good distraction, at least?”

Ignis hesitated a moment. Dare he reveal the truth to this stranger? Did he admit that he had found their exchange far more exhilarating than he should have? It wasn’t like him.

And yet, where was the harm?

This man didn’t even know his name.

“It was,” he admitted. The clock struck out another chord then, and Ignis turned towards the hall again, feeling the pull of his duty as strongly as if he were physically tethered to his liege.

“Wait.”

The man reached out, grabbing Ignis’ wrist.

“Can I have your number?”

 _No,_ Ignis thought instantly, _that is step too far._ It was a short step from handing out his personal phone number to looking him up in a directory, and from there one could find his address, his relatives, any number of sordid details about his life. No, no, he could not have that, no matter how much Ignis wanted to say yes.

“I can’t-”

“Got a mailbox then? A public one?”

“I-”

The clock chimed again, and Ignis huffed out a frustrated noise. He was running out of time, his absence sure to be noted, and he took a few steps backwards. But he couldn’t leave things unfinished, not like this, not when the man was looking at him like that.

It was…

It was wrong, something told him, something deep within him. His gut, he realized. Instinct. 

Well, if this stranger didn't want to ignore his instincts, then neither would Ignis. 

“Next week,” he said quickly, stepping forward. “There is a ball to honor the Lady Cressida’s marriage to Lord Parnassus. It’s another costume party, another masquerade.”

The man latched onto this extended invitation, metaphorically and physically, grasping his hand tight. “Where will I find you?”

“I’ll come back here, to this garden, at the eleventh hour,” Ignis said. “Dressed as a mockingbird.”

“A mockingbird,” the man repeated.

The clock struck one more time, and Ignis knew that his time was up. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man was already pushing him away, gently, towards the door. “Go!” he said. “You’ve got a few minutes before anyone starts talking.”

Ignis nodded, and, without thinking too hard on where he was going or who he was bumping into, he made his way to Noctis’ side, his pulse thundering in his ears. So loud was it, he could scarcely hear the musicians strumming their violins or the murmurings of the crowds as he wove his way through the nobility. It was a wonder no one else could hear it.

He was out of breath when he found the prince, seated in a chair at the side of the room, a champagne flute in his hands. He looked up at Ignis, surprised.

“Why are you breathing so hard?” he asked, frowning. “Did you… did you _run_ here?”

 “No,” Ignis snapped. “I most certainly did not.”

“...uh-huh.” The look Noctis shot him was entirely unbelieving. “Where were you then?”

“In the garden,” Ignis replied, accepting a drink from a nearby server. He threw it back in one motion, gasping at the sting of it.

Noctis scrunched up his nose, confused. “The garden? What were you doing out there?”

“Avoiding people, mostly.” He noticed the extreme boredom on his charge’s face then, and gave him a weak grin. “As you would no doubt prefer to be doing.”

Noctis snorted. “Got that right,” he muttered. “How much longer do I gotta be here?”

“Another hour, at least, I fear.”

Noctis sighed. “Murder me, Specs.”

“Giving up so soon, son?”

Both of them turned in time to see Regis approach them, a wicked grin on his face. He offered Noctis his arm, and the prince stood, going to his father’s side.

“Come, it’s time for the speeches.”

“Dad-” Noctis began, whining. 

“No but’s!” Regis said firmly. “You must thank all of these lovely people for attending your party, Noctis - and for their _very_ generous, _entirely_ altruistic monetary donations to the war effort in your name.”

“Altruistic, my ass,” Noctis muttered.

Regis said nothing to this, and Ignis hid his smile behind his empty glass.

“Are you ready?”

“Will I ever be?” Noctis shot back.

“No,” Regis said truthfully. “Gods knew I wasn’t.” He turned back to Noctis, giving him a moment to compose himself. “Ready?” he asked again.

This time, Noctis nodded, and together, the royal duo walked forward to address the crowd.

Ignis only half-listened as first the King and then Noctis spoke, thanking the guests for their attendance and assuring them that their presence was most appreciated. He was far too wrapped up in his thoughts to give the speeches his full attention, his nerves still singing from his earlier encounter in the gardens.

Had it really happened?

It seemed so surreal, like something that would happen in a dream.

He smiled to himself at the thought.

 _A dream,_ he mused. _Yes, that is what it was like._

Something he would read about in a fantasy novel, perhaps, or a fairy tale. 

Was he too old for such things? Too cynical, too realistic? 

 _No_ , he thought to himself, remembering the way the man had smiled at him, the warmth of his palm as he'd grasp Ignis' hand. 

_No one is too old for that._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and kudos! I'm so happy you guys like this so far :)

“You alright there, Specs?”

Ignis blinked, looking up at Noctis. His charge was looking at him rather curiously, twirling his pen around in his hands. “What do you mean, Noct?”

Noctis snorted, shaking his head. “Okay,” he said, setting the pen down. “What’s up?”

Ignis straightened in his seat. “Nothing is up,” he replied.

“Yeah, sure,” Noctis said, “You’ve been smiling like an idiot to yourself for the past hour just for the heck of it.”

...he had?

He hadn’t noticed.

Ignis cleared his throat, attempting to draw the prince’s attention back to the task at hand - namely, writing a speech to give to the populace on the morrow, addressing the recent military victory in the north. The news of the surprise attack from the Empire had come in the night, and it seemed all of the aristocracy had been on pins and needles waiting for news from the front. And in the quiet hours of the morning, it had finally come - Titus Drautos, premier general of the kingdom of Lucis, had somehow, miraculously, pushed the Nifs back, routed their soldiers, and scored a crushing win against their foes.

Regis had contacted Ignis as soon as he’d gotten the message from the field. Noctis, he had said, was to give a speech on Drautos’ behalf, meant to instill the populace with hope and raise the morale that had been steadily flagging over the past few months of stalemate. Was his son up to the task, the King had asked?

Ignis had assured him that he was, confident in his charge’s abilities - and his own editing abilities, naturally - to craft a speech that would properly excite the crowds. Together, they were a winning team.

That assumed, of course, that they ever actually _made_ any headway on the writing portion of the task. Noctis, for all of his talents, was proving decidedly stubborn in actually putting words to paper.

“Oh, c’mon, gimme a break,” Noctis wheedled, ignoring the way Ignis had pointedly tapped the mostly blank pages before him. “Speech writing is hard!”

“Do you know what else is hard?” Ignis retorted. “Giving a good speech on the fly, with no notes to help you.”

Noctis huffed. “Why can’t you do it?” he asked. “You’re the better writer, anyways.”

“You know why, Noct,” Ignis said. “This is something your father has trusted specifically to you. He wants it to have your personal touch, your voice. It would be inappropriate for me to do the work for you.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Noct muttered under his breath.

“He would know,” Ignis said, frowning.

“Probably,” the prince allowed, sighing. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good.”

Ignis sat back in his chair, watching as Noctis slowly wrote out several pages of text. He would stop every now and then, biting the tip of his pen, and cross out several words, replacing them with new ones. It was a slow process, almost painfully so, but Ignis preferred that to haste - writing was an art form, and it couldn’t be rushed. Better to turn out quality work and take longer to do it than spit out shoddy pieces quickly.

Perhaps an hour later, Noctis sighed and pushed the pages away. “I can’t look at this any more,” he said.

Ignis nodded. “Take a break,” he suggested.

“Really?”

“I’ll look over what you have and make my initial suggestions,” Ignis replied. “We can reconvene after you’ve eaten some lunch and make further edits from there.”

Noctis made a dismayed noise. “ _Great_ ,” he said, voice positively dripping with fake enthusiasm.

“No one ever said that being a king was easy,” Ignis reminded him, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smirk.

“No one ever said it’d be a total pain in the ass, either.”  

Ignis chuckled, and stood to go make some coffee. It was nearing midday, nearly the time when Noctis would usually step out to go and get some lunch. When he’d been younger, Ignis had made almost all of his meals for him. The prince was a dreadfully picky eater, a nightmare to the palace chefs, and Ignis had been one of the few of his retainers patient enough to keep up with his food preferences. Now, however, Noctis had branched out a bit, experimenting with new food selections and even finding that he liked a few things he’d hated as a child. As a consequence, he often went out for lunch now, frequenting small cafes and restaurants near the Citadel with his friends.

Today seemed like one of those days, Noctis pulling out his phone and typing out a quick message before setting the device on the counter, waiting impatiently for a response. Ignis watched him out of the corner of his eyes as he pulled a mug from a nearby cabinet, checking to make sure it was clean before setting it by the still-brewing pot of coffee.

“Hey, I’m gonna go out with Prompto for a bit, grab a bite,” Noctis suddenly announced.

Ignis turned to face him. “Alright. Be careful.”

Noctis rolled his eyes, but grinned anyways. “Always am, Specs,” he replied. “Want me to grab you anything? We’re going to that new burger place that just opened up on Tenth Street.”

“No, thank you. Coffee will be just fine for me.”

“Man can’t live on Ebony alone, Iggy,” the prince said, snorting.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Eat something, seriously,” Noctis said, pointing to the pantry. “I don’t have much, but whatever’s in there’s fair game.”

“Fallen behind on your shopping again, have you?” Ignis would have to remedy that, making a mental note to write out a grocery list. Otherwise, Noctis would come home with bags full of things like frozen pizza and miniature chocolate cakes, conveniently forgetting to frequent the sections of the market with foods that actually had an expiration date.

“Maybe.” Noctis grinned sheepishly.

“I’ll swing by the store and get you a few things later, then,” Ignis said, “To tide you over until the weekend.”

“Thanks, Specs. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Noctis grabbed his keys and stuffed his feet into his shoes, making for the door. At the last second, Ignis thought of something and took a step forward to catch the other’s attention.

“Noct, one moment, please.”

The prince looked up, blue eyes curious. “Yeah?”

“Have you Gladiolus’ phone number?”

Noctis scrunched his nose up, seemingly confused by the question. “Um, yeah? ‘Course I do.”

“Might I have it?”

“...sure.” Noctis pulled out his phone, tapping it a few times. “There,” he said a moment later, putting the phone back into his pocket. “I texted it to you.” He frowned then, putting a hand on his hip. “Why d’you want it, anyways?”

“A suggestion from your father,” Ignis replied, checking to see if he’d received the text Noctis had just sent. He had, and he tapped a few more buttons to save the number into his contacts. “He wants me to talk to Gladiolus about the additional security measures he’s implementing.”

“Oh.” Noctis blinked. “That it?”

“Yes.”

“You guys aren’t… hanging out or something?”

Ignis lifted an eyebrow. “Of course not.” 

“Huh.”

Ignis knew that sound. It was one Noctis made whenever he didn’t quite believe something that Ignis was telling him, whenever he thought there was something else going on behind the scenes. It was much the same as the noise he had made when he was younger and Ignis had had orders to gloss over the nastier aspects of the war. Even then, the prince had been a precocious child, knowing instinctively when he wasn’t being told the whole truth.

But he didn’t call Ignis on it.

He never did.

“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Later, Specs.”

Ignis nodded, waiting until Noctis had left, the door banging shut behind him, before turning back to the kitchen and checking on his coffee. It had finished brewing, and he poured himself a steaming cup, not bothering with cream or sugar before bringing it to his lips.

Strong and piping hot, just the way that he liked it.

Leaning back against the counter, he tapped a few buttons on his phone and brought it up to his ear, steeling himself for the phone call he was about to make. This was something he had to do, he reminded himself, something he’d as good as promised the King. He might not… enjoy the conversation, but that was of little consequence.

The number he had dialed rang three times before its owner picked up.

“Yeah?"

Gladiolus’ voice was deep, much more so than it had been when they were children, and warm, if a little gruff. Pleasant to listen to, Ignis begrudgingly admitted, even if the man’s phone etiquette was… lacking.

“Gladiolus? This is Ignis Scientia. Noctis’ advisor?”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Gladiolus retorted. “We’ve met, remember?”

“I do recall,” Ignis said dryly, “I merely wanted to see if _you_ remembered, as well.”

A snort filled his ears, though there was little humor in it. “Hard to forget the guy who sucker-punched me in front of half the court,” he said.

Yes, well.

That incident had been regrettable, but had Gladiolus not been acting _entirely_ like an ass, Ignis wouldn’t have done it. Ignis prided himself on being an honorable, decent sort of fellow, when it came to sparring, and he would much rather win by skill than claim victory because he’d cheated. Thus the sucker-punch had been broken quite a few of his rules.

As it was, it had gotten him out of lessons with Gladiolus, and he rather thought that worth the price of a fourteen year old Gladiolus’ anger.

“What do you want, Ignis? I have shit to do, and I don’t know why the hell you’re calling me up like this-”

Ignis paused to take a sip of his coffee. “I assure you, this is strictly business. His Majesty suggested that I speak to you regarding your plans to increase Noctis’ security,” he said. “He thinks that perhaps I can… assist you.”

“Huh.” Gladiolus paused, and Ignis was forced to wait in silence for his response. A minute passed, and then another, and another. He pursed his lips, frowning, impatience tugging at him, when finally, he was rewarded with an answer. “Okay. Guess that makes sense.”

“We’re in agreement, then.”

“Tch, for once.” Gladiolus sighed, and when he spoke next, Ignis was surprised to hear most of the bite had receded from his voice, replaced with fatigue. “I have most of my plans already drawn up, but I haven’t finalized ‘em. Guess we should meet up, so you can have a look.”

“I’ll need to check my schedule,” Ignis replied. “The rest of my week is rather busy, I’m afraid.”

“Like mine ain’t?”

“What was that?” Ignis asked, quite certain that he hadn’t been meant to hear the other’s muttered quip.

“Nothing.”

“I’m sure,” Ignis said flatly.

“Well, you check that busy schedule of yours, and if you can manage to find the time to pencil me in, you let me know.”

“Of course.”

Gladiolus didn’t give any sort of farewell before he hung up the phone, leaving Ignis to listen to a blank, plain dial tone as he took another sip of coffee.

 _Rude,_ Ignis thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. But he had spent years perfecting the gesture, and it would be wasted if the object of his exasperation wasn’t actually in the room with him.

Despite the abruptness of Gladiolus’ good-bye, Ignis didn’t truly mind. It was as painless an interaction between the two of them was ever likely to be, and the sooner he was done with the whole thing, the better.

He had more important things to do with his time than placate a grumpy Gladiolus Amicitia.

* * * * *

Gladio wasn’t really sure what to make of this.

Here he was, sitting on his couch, Ignis _fucking_ Scientia, of all people, sitting across from him, bending over the coffee table to look over the various drawings, notes, and schedules Gladio had drawn up as improvements to Noct’s security.

He had to say, it certainly wasn’t how he thought he’d be spending his Thursday night.

He shifted, taking the time to study the man before him. It’d been a while since he’d seen Ignis last - years, really, since he’d gotten the chance to look at the guy up close. He was taller than Gladio remembered, and more muscular. His hair was styled differently too, spiked up and swept back from his face, exposing a high forehead and a sharp, aquiline nose. Very different from the floppy-haired kid who’d once accompanied him to hand-to-hand combat. Stronger. Less awkward. Better looking. 

Ignis sighed and pushed his glasses up, and Gladio had to suppress a snort. He may have looked different, but his bookish mannerisms were still the same.

“I’m finished,” he announced, straightening and sitting back in the chair Gladio had offered him.

His voice was soft, but sharp, articulate, crisp. Like the professors Gladio had had in university - back before he’d dropped out, of course. Now, he didn’t know anyone who spoke in such precise, eloquent tones.

“And?” Gladio prompted. He could sense an onslaught coming, a bevy of critiques and faults and problems that Ignis had found with his work.

He wasn’t wrong.

“This isn’t going to work,” Ignis replied. He pointed to one sheet of paper. “Noctis will never consent to having his private residence watched like this, even if it’s for his safety. And this,” he said, moving to another stack of pages, “is just a disaster waiting to happen, Gladiolus. If he ever finds out that you’ve approached Prompto, his one true friend from the outside world, the one person whom he trusts likes him for _him_ and not for his title, he’ll never trust either one of us ever again.”

“I’m here to protect him,” Gladiolus retorted, “Not be his best friend.”

Ignis gave him a look over the rims of his glasses, one that reminded Gladio far too much of the ones his tutors had given him as a child when he’d given a wrong answer.

He had hated it then, and he hated it now.

“If you lose his trust,” Ignis said primly, “you won’t be capable of either.”

Biting back his angry words, Gladio sat up, spreading his hands wide. “Got any suggestions, then?” he asked.

“Certainly, if you wish to hear them.”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t wanna know.”

Ignis picked up a pen, using it to make tiny notations on each sheet of paper as he went over his suggestions. Gladio listened, putting aside his ire for the moment and taking in what Ignis had to say. Whatever he felt towards the guy, he had to admit that Ignis knew his stuff - and, he begrudgingly admitted, Ignis was _right._ Gladio saw the faults in his security plans the second Ignis pointed them out, immediately noticing where the holes were. The fact that Ignis had found them in minutes when he’d poured over them for hours, proofreading them again and again and again, made Gladio scowl.

“Should you make these changes, I think your plans have a reasonable chance of success,” Ignis concluded, setting the pen back down on the table. “The bare bones are there. They just need a little more… consideration for certain factors.”

“Gee, thanks,” Gladio said, unable to help rolling his eyes. He snatched the papers up, putting them back into a stack and placing them into the folder he’d set to the side.

Ignis didn’t seem bothered by his tone of voice. “There’s no need to get angry,” he said serenely.

“I’m not,” Gladio shot back.

“You could have fooled me.” He stood, gathering up his suit jacket and slinging it over his shoulders. “I won’t overstay my welcome. Thank you for allowing me to see the plans, and for taking my alterations into account.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gladio blinked. “Tomorrow?” he asked.

Ignis stared at him for a moment, and then said, “For the wedding. You _are_ going, are you not?”

Oh. That.

At first, Gladio felt relief - for a second there, he’d thought that maybe he’d forgotten some meeting, some appointment, something of Noct’s that required his attendance as well as Ignis’. But no, it was just that marriage ceremony the whole Citadel had been talking about, and after that, the ball. Then he was filled with elation, excitement coursing through him at the thought of the masquerade.

Him.

He would get to see _him_.

It was practically a date. One where neither of them knew what each other looked like, or what the other was named. A blind date, then.

But a _date_ , with a charming, witty man who he was sure was just as beautiful beneath the costumes and disguises as his smile was in plain sight.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he said, finally answering Ignis’ question.

“Ah. I see. I thought perhaps you weren’t, judging from your tone of voice.”

“Noct’s gonna be there,” Gladio said firmly. “He goes, I go. That simple.”

“Of course.” Ignis grabbed his bag, nodded once, and then took a step towards the door. “As I said, I’ll leave you be. Good-bye, Gladiolus.”

Another step, and he was gone.

“Bye,” Gladio murmured, barely noticing as his front door opened and closed. He was too busy thinking about tomorrow, thoughts drawn towards the ball by Ignis’ words.

Eleven o’clock. That was when the man had said he’d come to Gladio. In the gardens, no less. Did he mean the same spot they’d frequented last weekend? The Citadel’s terrace atriums were extensive, a maze of twisting paths, curling vines and gnarled, old trees that had stood for nearly as long as Insomnia itself. There were a thousand places he could want to meet Gladio, many of them far more secluded (and romantic) than the airy plaza where they'd met before. 

But no, the man would have said something if he'd wanted them to change locations. Gladio would start at the same terrace where they’d met then. It made the most sense.

That having been decided, his mind turned towards his costume. He hated this part - deciding what to wear to those sorts of things had never been his strong suit. It didn’t help that he was so big; much like medication, magical elixirs were designed for certain sizes of individual. Thus, people who were average in height and weight had the most options. But if you were big, like he was?

Last time he’d gone to the shop, his options had been a snake, an anak, and a behemoth (someone’s idea of a joke, no doubt), much to his dismay. The woman who’d waited on him had just happened to find a starling disguise in the back, with no telling how old it was, and he’d leapt at the chance to be dressed as something _normal_ for a change, even if the thing’s age had meant it might not be worked at all. 

Luckily for him, it had.

Luckily for him, it had lasted all night, and he’d had an unexpectedly wonderful time.

He could only hope that tomorrow would go as well.

Maybe he should go to a specialty store, get a nicer costume. It might be worth it. The larger shops attracted the more experienced, more talented potion brewers, and thus, the selection was wider - even for people like him.

Yeah, there was an idea.

He might find a nice peacock disguise, something bright and colorful and festive.

...but on second thought, maybe a peacock was a little _too_ attention-grabbing. Some less colorful, but equally stately would have to do. A bird, as was common, maybe a bird of prey. But what type? A hawk? A kestrel? Or maybe…

Gladio grinned.

He knew exactly what he was going to wear.

* * * * *

Ignis looked over his appearance in the mirror, frowning.

He couldn’t decide if he’d gone too demure in selecting a mockingbird for his next costume. Though the birds were beautiful singers, capable of a great many sounds and songs, their looks were much more subdued. The silk of his costume was a cinereous gray, fading to black near the bottom of his pants, accented with silver buttons and scrollwork. The mask on his face was similarly plain, decorated with short feathers instead of the usual sparkling sequins and gemstones.

Everyone else would be wearing brilliantly colored disguises, no doubt, imitating creatures from tropical, far-away locales. Red and gold would likely be popular too, as those were the colors of Lady Cressida’s house.

In contrast, he would look drab and plain.

That shouldn’t have bothered him. Tonight, there was only one person whose opinion mattered to him, and _he_ already knew what Ignis would be wearing. And yet…

Ignis huffed, scowling at his reflection, hating the black eyes that stared back at him. It was necessary, as part of the costume; his light irises would never pass for a bird’s. But they were fake, strange, alien. How he wished he could just be himself and not have to play this game.

“Specs? You ready?”

Noctis popped out of his dressing room, adjusting the dark, military-style uniform gracing his shoulders. He tugged on it a bit, adjusting the lapels.

“Just so. And you?”

“Let’s… get it over with,” Noctis replied.

Ignis suppressed a sigh and followed his charge’s lead out into the ballroom.

Time seemed to pass slower than it ever had before, the minutes dragging painfully by as Ignis made small talk with a hundred and one different guests. He cared for none of it, giving each conversation only his passing attention after he’d given his congratulations to the bride and groom. It mattered little to the other guests; it was Noctis to whom most people were drawn, the sole royal in the entire room. Regis had taken the night off, claiming a fatigue too great to make his way down for the celebration.

That, at least, had given Ignis a moment’s pause. He knew that the King’s health was declining - it was obvious to anyone who saw him these days - but for him to miss such a public event? When the Lady Cressida was his own late wife’s cousin?

It was worrisome.

But he could hardly say as much to the guests. Regis was the last thing that he wanted to bring up, their monarch’s failing strength something he didn’t want to draw attention towards. And so instead, he talked about the weather, and the party, and the ceremony, and how _lovely_ the evening was, desperately hoping that time would somehow speed up and allow him to get away from it all.

Finally, just when he thought he could take it no longer, the clock struck an hour to midnight.

Ignis’ breath caught in his throat, his body involuntarily turning towards the giant clock at the end of the hall, its marble and gilt face sparkling in the light of a thousand yellow candles. _It’s time,_ he thought, the bells tolling out eleven notes, their echoes ringing throughout the hall. _Eleven._

He hastily made his excuses to the group he was chatting with, heading for the open doorway leading out to the terrace gardens. A few people tried to stop him on the way, several women begging his hand for a dance, but he politely refused each time, too intent upon his destination to be stopped now.

Breathless, he arrived in the garden, finding it precisely the same as how he’d left it the week before. The fountain, the lights, the flowers… even the night looked familiar, the same cool, fragrant breeze wafting over him. He breathed in it deep, exhaling out in a wistful sigh before looking round, searching for the tall, sturdy figure he had been anticipating all night.

But there was no one else here.

He was alone.

There was time yet, he thought, walking over to the fountain and staring down into the water. It was only a few minutes past the hour.

And so he waited, as patiently as an impatient man could.

Seconds turned into a minute, one minute turned into ten, and worry started to creep into his thoughts. Had the man been delayed? Had there been something else requiring his attention tonight? Or maybe, a darker side of him reasoned, he wasn’t interested in coming at all. Maybe he’d simply been nice to Ignis the last week, pretending to want to see him again. 

Ignis sighed, ready to turn back and head inside, when a hand closed around his wrist, the fingers warm and strong. “Hey.” 

The voice was breathless, excited, and Ignis’ heart thudded in either anticipation or response. He wasn’t sure which.

“You come here often, or am I just that lucky?”

Quick as he could, he turned, looking up into the eyes of a man dressed as a respondent eagle, the white feathers atop his head giving way to glossy brown-black silk clothing. Bronzed skin peeked out of the top of his shirt and beneath the hems of his cropped pants, revealing hints of strong, firm muscle beneath.

Ignis’ breath caught in his throat, and the man grinned.

It was _him_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just made myself a bowl of frosting because I've been craving something sweet. Now I'm going to eat the whole thing, and I feel like somewhere, in some other world, Ignis is judging me.
> 
> So here, just for Ignis, some flirting with a big, handsome dude in an eagle costume! 
> 
> (and for me and all you lovely readers, let's be honest, I wanted some flirting)

Ignis took a step back, reaching a hand out to steady himself on the fountain.  

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he said.

“Sorry I’m late,” the man replied. “There was a… bit of a situation down in the kitchens. My boss needed me to go take care of it.”

Ah.

That explained it. The man  _was_ security, after all; it was only natural that were something to happen, he would be called away. 

“By your presence here,” Ignis mused, “I presume everything is alright? The situation was resolved?”

“Yeah. I got it under control.”

Despite the fact that now wasn’t really the time for him to be worrying about such things, Ignis was curious. What had happened down in the kitchens? Some sort of accident? A fight? Or - his thoughts took a decidedly more sinister turn, and he wondered if perhaps someone had attempted to poison Noctis or the King, slipping in amongst the servers hired to work these events and throwing a toxin into the soup. Given the assassination attempt on Regis’ life a few weeks back, it wasn’t something that could be ruled out. He opened his mouth, intent on asking more questions, but then he snapped it shut just as quickly. Surely if something had happened, he would have been notified - he'd have gotten a phone call, or someone would have come to find him. Since neither had occurred, he could only assume it had been a minor incident. 

He decided not to think on it too hard, pushing his concerns aside for a later time, and gave the man a wry smile. “Well, what would a wedding be without a little drama?”

The other grinned. “Downright boring,” he replied.

Ignis turned, setting off down a path that led deeper into the garden, and the man fell in step beside him, matching his stride to Ignis’ slightly shorter legs.

“I must say, I’m happy to hear the situation in the kitchens was easily resolved,” Ignis admitted. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week, and it would have been a pity if you hadn’t been able to meet me here.”

“Yeah, me too,” the man agreed. “I was pissed when my boss told me to go check it out. Told him I had a date and all, but he wouldn’t budge.”

“A date?”

The man looked at him sideways. “Isn’t that what this is?” he asked.

“I… I suppose it is,” Ignis allowed. The thought pleased him, sent a pleasant tendril of warmth through him.

A date.

He was on a _date_. Gods, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date. It had been weeks, months even, the increasing demands of his duties to Noctis leaving him with less and less time for a social life. 

He hoped that he wasn't too rusty.

“Well, if this is a date,” he said, “Shouldn’t I know your name?”

“Probably.”

Ignis waited a few moments, and when no answer was forthcoming, pursed his lips. “I take it from your silence, you’d rather keep your identity to yourself?”

It wasn’t unreasonable. They barely knew he each other, and if the man worked in security, perhaps he had good reason for keeping his identity hidden.

“Call me Scipio.”

Ignis blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Scipio,” he repeated slowly. He mulled this over, and then asked, “After the Shield of the King who saved his liege from no less than fifty assassination attempts? Or perhaps you’re a fan of the character from the _A Lonely Knight_ novels?”

The man grinned. “You read,” he said. He sounded delighted.

Ignis couldn’t help the smile that quirked his lips. “Occasionally,” he said.

“It’s both, actually,” the man - Scipio, as he wanted to be called - said. “I always liked history as a kid; it was my favorite subject in school. Learning about the old ways, the ancient Kings and Queens, where we came from and how we got to here…” He shrugged. “When my dad found out how much I liked it, he started buying me books to read. Historical fiction, fantasy, those kinds of novels. _A Lonely Knight_ was one of the first ones he got me. It’s… been a favorite, ever since.”

“One of mine as well,” Ignis replied. “I believe I first read it when I was seven.”

“ _Seven?”_ Scipio asked, incredulous. “You serious?”

“I was a tad advanced for my age,” Ignis admitted.

“A tad?” Scipio snorted. “I didn’t manage to get through it until I was thirteen, and even then, I had to look up half the words to see what they meant.” He eyed Ignis speculatively. “So you’re smart. That make you an academic? Professor, researcher, that sort of thing?”

“Not quite. Though I am a tutor, of sorts.”

It was a half-truth he’d settled on, not quite comfortable with revealing that he was the prince’s advisor just yet. He wanted to trust Scipio, but Ignis had to be realistic here. His proximity to Noctis made him a target for the enemy’s subterfuge. In all honesty, he was surprised that he hadn’t fallen prey to any of the Empire’s prior espionage attempts. That he hadn’t thus far only made him doubly cautious about meeting new people.

Even people like Scipio, whom he very much liked. It was too simply risky to reveal his true status.

And it wasn’t a lie, not really - he _did_ act as a tutor.

“For what?”

“Pardon?”

“What subjects do you teach?”

“Everything,” Ignis replied.

The man stopped, frowning at him. “Everything?” he repeated.

“Mathematics, history, economics, literature, politics, diplomacy, etiquette… and the sciences, of course. I’ll admit I’m not particularly skilled in foreign languages, but-”

“I take it back,” Scipio interjected. “You aren’t smart. You’re a genius.”

Ignis scoffed. “Hardly,” he said. “I know a lot about a lot of different things. That doesn’t make me particularly intelligent so much as it makes me well educated.”

Scipio stared at him for a minute, and then shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Okay,” he relented. “If you say so.” He stepped forward, retaking his place at Ignis’ side. “So then, Mr. Well-Educated. You’re gonna call me Scipio. So what should I call you?”

Ignis considered this, the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked filling the silence that fell between them. His pseudonym could be nothing too revealing, nothing that would give away his true identity. But he didn’t want it to be too common a name either, too obviously fake. Scipio had chosen one of his favorite literary characters. Perhaps he should do the same? No, that wouldn't do - his favorite literary character was a rogue detective from an old crime serial, known to the underworld only as “Z”, and that would just sound silly.

But perhaps…

An idea struck Ignis, and deciding to be bold, he turned to face Scipio, hands clasped behind his back.

“If you are to be Scipio,” he said slowly, “I think it only fair that I be Curio.”

Scipio chuckled. “The ancient rhetorician?” he asked. “Or the thief that stole Scipio’s sword?”

Ignis smirked. “Both.”

The man took a step closer to him, and Ignis had to tilt his head back a little. At this distance, Scipio’s height was greatly exaggerated, making Ignis feel quite small even though he was nothing of the sort. Were it any other situation, he might have felt threatened.

Now it was simply intoxicating.

“As I remember it,” Scipio murmured, “Curio stole more than just Scipio’s sword.”

“He did,” Ignis breathed. “His saddle, his pendant, one time the very boots from off his feet-”

“His heart,” Scipio interjected.

Ignis paused. “Yes,” he said quietly. “That too.”

He watched Scipio’s face, trying to guess what the other was intimating. But it was impossible, the man’s dark eyes hidden by the edge of his mask.

Eventually, he smiled and turned away, leading the way towards a more secluded part of the gardens. Ignis trotted to catch up, taking Scipio by the hand and pulling him towards a marble bench set beneath a weeping cherry tree. Warm, strong fingers curled around his, and he smiled; the warm, pleasant feeling from earlier had returned, spreading from the pit of his stomach to the very tips of his fingers.

He wondered if Scipio could feel it.

The air was fragrant here, filled with the scent of white-pink cherry blossoms, and Ignis didn’t bother letting go of Scipio’s hand as he sat down on the bench.

“Tell me,” he said, curling one foot up underneath him, “What else have you read, Scipio?”

Scipio grinned, squeezing Ignis’ palm. “You got all night?” he asked. “It’s a long list.”

“Not all night,” Ignis replied, “But for the next hour? I’m yours.”

“Good.”

* * * * *  

An hour’s time had never passed so quickly.

It was cruel, Ignis thought, that time seemed to drag when one wasn’t enjoying themselves and to speed up whenever one was. He could have sat there, listening to Scipio talk about books, about his family, about himself, for hours more, and yet, when the clock struck one, he knew that he had to go. He needed to see Noctis home safely, and after that, he too needed to retire to his apartment. It was late, and though nearly all of the court had likely celebrated far too much this night, they would all have to rise bright and early in the morning.

He didn’t leave empty-handed, however.

Scipio had pressed something into his palm as he’d retreated back to the ballroom. Ignis hadn’t gotten a chance to look at it properly until he’d returned to his apartment, half-sitting, half-collapsing onto his couch as he’d pulled the mask from his face.

It was a phone number.

Ignis stared down at the hastily drawn numbers. He didn’t recognize it, though he supposed that wasn’t much of a surprise. More important was the message behind the number.

Scipio wanted to talk to him. He didn’t want to wait until the next ball, hoping that they would be able to get away from the crowds and meet again. He wanted to be able to talk to Ignis at all hours of the day, whenever he wanted to do so.

The thought made Ignis happier than he dared to admit.

He stood and retreated into his bedroom, opening a drawer on the bedside table and pulling out a phone. It was his second phone, the one he reserved for speaking with friends and family. He didn’t use it very often, of course - his uncle and a few friends from his university days were the only people whose names were recorded in his address book. Tonight, he added one more, typing Scipio’s number into his phone and sending him a quick message so that he would have Ignis’ number.  

He didn’t expect a response. It was already after two in the morning, long after most people had gone to sleep. Ignis was half-way there himself, barely managing to go through with his nightly routine before crawling into his bed.

Astrals, but he was going to be tired in the morning. He would probably need an additional can of Ebony just to make it through his first meeting, and that was _if_ the minister of agriculture had good news. If he didn’t…

Well.

In that case, one extra can might not be enough.

* * * * *

“Gladiolus.” 

Gladio looked up, mask halfway off his face, to see his father striding towards him. Clarus had already removed his costume, exchanging his fine silk clothing for his usual dark uniform. He had also, Gladio noticed, removed the flimsy ceremonial sword he’d worn to the ball, replacing it with the huge greatsword that was an heirloom of the Amicitia family. He’d pulled it out of the ether, purposefully strapping it to his back in order to intimidate anyone who crossed him. Down to business, then.

They had work to do.

Clarus threw a fresh uniform at him. “Get changed. I need you with me.”

Gladio nodded, pulling on the uniform as quickly as he could. Clarus turned his back on him to give him some privacy, but that didn’t stop him from speaking.

“Cor’s been with the prisoner since you caught him in the kitchens, but he’s not talking. Too scared, most likely. Doesn’t seem much like a professional.”

“No weapons?”

“Nothing,” Clarus replied. He snorted. “Man crept into the Citadel, disguised himself as a kitchen server, planning to do gods-know-what, and he didn’t even think to bring a knife.” He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to feel grateful or insulted.”

“Any idea who he is?”  

“Name’s Tiberius. He had an ID in his back pocket.”

Gladio snorted, stepping forward to stand beside his father as he did the final buttons on his jacket. “Seriously? Who brings their ID with them when break into a palace?”

“An idiot,” Clarus snapped. He gave Gladio a once over and nodded. “Ready? Come.”

He didn’t wait to see if Gladio would follow him before leaving the room. He didn’t have to - Gladio had already fallen in step beside him, downing an elixir to nullify the effects of the disguise potion he’d taken earlier.

He grimaced at the unpleasant feeling of transforming back to his normal appearance. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the least, mostly because of the feathers. He didn’t know how birds put up with them. They scratched and tickled as they disappeared, and his skin always itched for days after wearing a disguise.

 _Still,_ he thought, reminding himself of his time spent in the garden tonight, _worth it._

“You’re happy.”

Gladio looked over at his father, raising an eyebrow. “Am I?” he asked.

“Well, you’re smiling.”

“So? You’re the one who never smiles, Dad.”

Clarus snorted. “Who is she?”

“What?”

“Or is it a him, this time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about-”

“Bullshit. You told me yourself that you had a date tonight.”

_Shit._

He'd forgotten the he'd spilled the beans about his date earlier, back when he'd tried to pawn off the kitchen situation to a lesser member of the Guard. He tried to play it cool now, rolling his eyes. “Dad, c’mon. We gotta talk about this now?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. But don’t think I can’t see what’s happening.”

They had reached the door that led to the lower levels, two Crownsguard members standing sentry outside. They nodded to Clarus, stepping aside and letting him through.

The secondary door had no guards. It hardly needed them, considering the strength of the lock with which it was armed. Clarus knew the codes, though, and he stepped forward, typing a string of numbers into the pad at the side. A few moments later and the heavy steel doors were sliding open, revealing a narrow staircase heading deep down into the earth.

“Don’t let it distract you.”

Gladio blinked. “I’m not,” he said.

“Mmm.” Clarus didn’t sound convinced. “We have to stay vigilant, Gladiolus, now more than ever. The situation in the kitchens is proof of that.”

Gladio bit back his retort, knowing, deep down, that his father was right. But it was hard to hold his tongue, for he knew that this wasn’t the sort of thing to bother Clarus. A civilian breaking into the kitchens during a very public, very well-advertised wedding ceremony? It wasn’t the end of the world, and it certainly wasn’t enough of a problem to have his father so on edge. Hell, they’d had worse security breaches during Citadel lockdowns before, and Clarus hadn’t batted an eye.

No, this had nothing to do with the man currently sitting in a cell with Cor Leonis.

It had everything to do with the recent assassination attempt on Regis.

But Gladio couldn’t say that, because that would mean telling his father that he knew about his relationship with the King. That would mean an awkward conversation about how Clarus wasn’t replacing Gladio’s mother, about how Clarus hadn’t wanted to lie to Gladio and his sister, Iris, and how he had always loved Regis more than life itself. And that was a conversation that Gladio hadn’t quite prepared himself to have.

“Here.”

Gladio drew up short, pausing as his father opened another set of doors, this time leading down a short white hallway. He frowned, recognizing the interrogation rooms. “He’s not even in a cell?” he asked, surprised.

“Cor’s with him,” Clarus replied, as if that answered all of Gladio’s unspoken questions.

And, to be honest, it did, because someone would have to be _really_ fucking good to pull one over on the Marshal, but still.

If this was just an act, and the guy was only pretending to be a dunce…

Clarus led him into a room near the end of the hall, its door marked with a bronze numeral for the number five. Inside, Cor was sitting on one side of a steel table, a man in handcuffs across from him. He looked just as he had when Gladio had left him - dejected, frightened, a touch tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there was a haunted look to them that suggested he was near the end of the proverbial rope, desperate.

He looked up as Gladio and Clarus walked into the room, his mouth falling open in surprise at the sight of his captor. “You-”

“Me,” Gladio said, smiling. He shut the door with a push, letting it slam closed a little louder than was necessary. The prisoner - _Tiberius,_ Gladio reminded himself - flinched as Gladio leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

Meanwhile, Clarus took a seat next to Cor, sharing a look with his second-in-command.

Gladio watched the two of them, curious as always at how they managed to communicate without managing to speak. It was something they’d picked up over years of working together at the King’s side, a set of glances, shrugs, and eye rolls that somehow meant more than simple exasperation or diffidence. It was a language only they spoke, something meant only for the two of them.

And maybe Regis. But Gladio hardly ever saw the King these days, except when he was in public, and so he couldn’t confirm or deny his suspicions. 

“Tiberius,” Clarus said suddenly, turning to the prisoner. “That your name?"

The man eyed him warily, nodding.

"What do you want?”

Tiberius frowned, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. “W-what?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and he scowled, as if that were a sign of weakness.

“What do you want?” Clarus asked again, speaking slowly and carefully enunciating each word. “You broke into the Citadel, impersonating a server in order to get to the kitchens, using key codes I _know_ you don't have security clearance to use, breaking about ten different laws in the process, and all for... what? I want to know why you did it. Simple as that.”

Tiberius’ eyes shifted between Clarus and Cor, uncertain, but he didn’t speak.

After a minute of silence, Cor turned to Clarus, sighing. “Told you he wasn’t talking,” he muttered. “This is all I’ve gotten from him. He’s not interested in-”

“I want an audience with the King.”

Cor snapped his mouth shut, scowling at Tiberius.

Clarus raised an eyebrow at Cor. "Patience, Leonis." He turned back to Tiberius. “A private audience with the King?” he asked. Tiberius nodded, slowly at first, and then more fervently when he realized no one was going to reprimand him for it. “Hmph. Not a simple request.”

“We’re tired of this war,” Tiberius continued. “All of us. We - we can’t take it. It’s ruining our lives.”

Clarus nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“We’re running out of food - everyone knows it. The rations have been getting smaller and smaller for years. And the refugees-”

“What about the refugees?” Cor asked darkly.

“There’s no room!”

“So what d’you suggest?” the Marshal asked. “Should we… throw them out? Let them get caught in the crossfire?”

“Of course not!” Tiberius said, scandalized.

“But there’s no room for them,” Cor interejected. “You said so yourself.”

“I didn’t mean you should just force them away! Something needs to be done! Resettle them, create more public housing for them, something!”

“Is that it?” Clarus demanded. “Food? The refugees? Come now, Tiberius, you know there are programs to help people who need it. There's a war on, man, of course times are going to be hard. The King is doing what he can to provide relief, and all reports suggest things are better now than they once were." His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward over the table. "What is this  _really_ about? What do you  _really_ want?" 

Tiberius paused, and something in his eyes shifted, the haunted glint Gladio had recognized earlier coming front and center. _This is it_ , he realized, _the real reason this guy snuck into the Citadel. It wasn’t the food or the refugees, or anything else. That was all just a ruse, something to get our attention. What he really wanted is-_

“My son.” Tiberius swallowed. “I want… I want my son.”  

“Your son,” Cor repeated.

Clarus breathed in deep, bringing a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain. “Where is he?” he asked.

“He’s a soldier, in Drautos’ army. Marcus. His… his name is Marcus.” Tiberius’ voice had gone very quiet now. “And I want him home.”

Clarus and Cor shared another look, and Cor sighed. “What year into his rotation is he?”

“He’s served for eleven months.”

Gladio grimaced, knowing what his father would say before he said it.

Marcus wasn’t coming home.

It was impossible. All soldiers served in three year increments with their legion; they were assigned to one of several war zones surrounding the kingdom, doing their duty for three years before they were withdrawn for one year’s respite. It was a system Regis had implemented decades ago, when the war had first begun. He hadn’t wanted any soldier serving longer than they could manage.

Of course, at first, soldiers had only had to serve a year before they were rotated out. It had been hard, Clarus had told Gladio once, but manageable. After their year of service was out, soldiers were withdrawn, treated for various physical and mental ailments sustained in the field, and then sent out to recuperate with their families.  

But that had been before the Empire had started using Magitek troopers.

That had been before the Empire had discovered how easily mechanical soldiers could lay waste to a region as well as how very quickly they could be replaced. Lucis, with no such technological knowledge, had quickly fallen behind, and so the system had changed. 

“Then your son has twenty-five more months to serve,” Clarus said finally. He didn’t like this, Gladio could tell. His lips were pulled tight over his teeth, the knuckles of the hand still clenching the table gone white with strain.

“He’s my only child-”

“There are many only children on the front, Tiberius,” Clarus interjected. “We cannot bring them all home.”

“It isn’t fair!”

Clarus blinked. “Fair?” he repeated. “When has war  _ever_ been fair?”

“Marcus had a whole future ahead of him, his entire _life,_ ” Tiberius continued, ignoring Clarus. “He has a wife, and a child of his own to take care of. They live with me now, his wife unable to raise their son on her own. She can’t find work!” He swallowed, hard, and pressed on. “The King needs to know what this war is costing us!

“The King knows,” Cor snapped. His eyes were like ice as he stared Tiberius down. “Don’t you ever think he doesn’t know exactly what this is costing.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Tiberius sneered. “As he sits in his pretty palace, with plenty of food and wine, his own son safe at his side. Why doesn’t he fight, eh? Why is the prince an exception?”

“Noctis is only just a legal adult-”

“He too afraid of losing his boy? The way I’m afraid of losing mine?”

“Tiberius-”

“When does it end? When will it stop? When can our sons and daughters come home, and take back the lives they’ve given up? The King should end this war, put a stop to it! Before we become a kingdom of grieving parents!”

“Of course it has to stop!” Clarus retorted. The words were loud, and angry, and Cor and Gladio both looked to him in surprise.

Clarus huffed out a breath, running a hand over his face. A moment later, he spoke again, the sudden anger having faded from his voice. “On that, we are in agreement, Tiberius. This war must end soon. But seeing as how it was the _Empire_ that attacked Lucis, and not the other way round, there is very little that the King can do to speed up its ending. Unless you would prefer we just surrender, and let them raze us to the ground, hmm? Certain death, that's what waits for all of us if we just _stop_ this war now. What the King is doing hurts, yes, but it is  _necessary_ \- not just for me, not just for my son, not just for you. For everyone. He is doing what  _must_ be done so that Lucis may survive. Are  _you_ going to be the one to demand that he stop then? Is that what you'll do if I grant you an audience with him - berate him for doing his damnedest to protect you?”

Tiberius slumped down into his chair, the fight gone out of him.

“I didn’t think so,” Clarus muttered. He turned to Cor. “Take him back to his home. There’s nothing more to be done here, I think.”

Cor nodded. “And the charges?”

Clarus paused, looking over at Tiberius once more.

“Drop them,” he said quietly. “Drop them all.”

Gladio left with his father, leaving Cor to settle things. They didn’t speak as they made their way up to the ground floor, both of their hearts too heavy for speech. There were altogether too many citizens like Tiberius, too many men and women who had had to watch their children go off to war, not knowing whether or not they return.

Sometimes, Gladio felt guilty knowing that he wasn’t one of them. No one had ever once considered whether or not he should go to the front. It wasn’t a part of his assigned role, not a part of the duties that all Amicitia’s were supposed to play. He wasn’t just a soldier, but the King’s sworn shield. His job was to protect the prince at all costs, at home instead of on the field. Given the current political climate, it meant that he would likely one day give his life for Noctis. Take a bullet for him, or die protecting him.

It wasn’t an easy job, and it wasn’t without its risks.

But it also meant that Gladio had never come face-to-face with the barrel of a Magitek trooper’s rifle on some forsaken battlefield, wondering if this moment would be his last or if the gods would grant him more time.

They parted ways in the main entryway, Gladio murmuring a goodbye before heading back to his apartment. There was hardly any traffic at this hour, and he made good time, pulling into the parking lot behind his building a scant fifteen minutes after leaving his father’s side. He couldn’t wait to get inside, kick his shoes off, and fall into his bed, sleep already tugging at his conscious. But he had a few things to do first, and so he trudged inside and hung up his uniform, bypassing his warm, beckoning bed and grabbing his phones to check his messages.

Some people would think it odd that Gladio had three phones. To him, it seemed perfectly natural. One was for business, holding the numbers of other members of the Crownsguard and his father in case there was some kind of security breach and he needed a direct line of contact with them. Another phone - the older, less technologically sound model that was more resistant to hacking - was reserved for calls made to Noctis. The third was the device that he used to contact his friends and family.

It was this third phone that he checked last, eager to see if he had any messages.  

Well, not just _any_ messages. A message from Curio, to be more truthful. He’d pressed his number into the man’s palm at the last second, just as he’d had to leave for the night, hoping he’d get the hint and give Gladio a call or shoot him a text when he had time.

And, sure enough, he had a message from an unrecognized number. 

**8/28, 2:21 a.m. < ??? > Dangerous, giving your phone number to a man who named himself after a thief. Daring. Bold. **

**8/28, 2:22 a.m. < ??? > I like bold.**

Gladio grinned despite his fatigue, Curio's words lightening his dark mood in a way that sleep or a hot shower wouldn't. They shouldn't, really, not when there was so much about this man that Gladio didn't know. For all the time they'd spent together tonight, they still hardly knew each other. And yet Gladio felt buoyant again, his spirits rising at the mere fact that Curio had taken his hints and messaged him back, that Curio  _liked_ him enough to want to talk outside of the balls and masks and costumes.

His fingers were already itching to type back a response.

Curio was likely in bed by now, his messages dated over an hour ago, but Gladio couldn’t just _not_ say anything back. Not after how easily Curio's words - the slow, drawling voice Gladio read his messages in, a poor imitation of Curio's own lazy speech - had brought a smile to his face. Not after they'd sat together in the moonlight, debating the finer plot points of a handful of novels they'd both read. And _certainly_ not after Curio had sent him such an obviously flirtatious text.

He liked bold, did he?

Gladio would show him bold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little paranoid I'm going to slip up and accidentally type Gladio or Ignis instead of Curio and Scipio. Why have I done this to myself? hahaha

For perhaps the tenth time just that hour, Gladio pulled out his personal phone and reread the conversation he’d started with Curio in the early hours of the morning.

 _I like bold,_ he’d said, leaving the door wide open for Gladio to say something provocative.

 _I like **you** , _ Gladio had responded, his words quickly followed by a second message, a _More than I should, after only meeting you twice._

 _The feeling is mutual,_ _I assure you,_ Curio had replied. It had come several hours later, just before six o’clock. Right as he’d woken up? Gladio hoped so; the thought that Curio had checked his phone as soon as he’d gotten up, as eager to check his messages as Gladio was, sent a little thrill through him.

Curio liked him.

Curio _liked_ him.

Gladio wasn’t a stranger to people liking him. He was a likeable guy, if he did say so himself. Pretty easygoing, with enough hobbies to be able to start a conversation with just about anyone, he had a lot of friends. And, he felt he had to admit, he’d had a lot of relationships over the years. Men, women… he liked both, and he’d dated on and off since his father had deemed him old enough to go out on his own.

Actually, he’d started things a little earlier, soon as he’d really hit puberty. But no need to tell Clarus he’d gotten his first kiss when he was twelve. Some things didn’t need to be shared with your parents.

Curio wasn’t like most of the men and women he’d dated in the past, though. He was… different, and not just because Gladio didn’t even know his real name. There was something about the way that they interacted, an easiness, a comfort, that Gladio had never felt before. It was intoxicating, drawing him in like a moth to a flame, each time Curio was forced to go leaving Gladio desperate for more. 

That was why he’d left Curio his phone number.

He wanted more, infinitely more, as much as Curio would give him.

Something tapped on the passenger side window of his car, and Gladio looked up. Ignis Scientia was standing there, an annoyed look on his face, a brown paper bag in his arms.

Oh, right.

Him.

They were meeting up in order to go and set up some more cameras around the perimeter of Noctis’ apartment complex. Gladio had planned on doing it alone, but when he’d mentioned it the other day, Ignis had insisted on helping him. _Probably doesn’t think I can do it properly myself,_ Gladio thought to himself, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. But an extra pair of hands wasn’t a bad idea, and Gladio hadn’t really wanted to start an argument, and so he’d given in, telling Ignis to meet him at his car this afternoon.

He lifted a hand, reaching across the car to unlock the door. Ignis lifted an eyebrow at that but said nothing, an unspoken display of amusement at his beat-up old car. _Power locks,_ Gladio thought, gritting his teeth, _the next car I get is going to have power locks._

Ignis sank down into the seat, setting his bag between his feet. “Good afternoon,” he said stiffly, reaching behind him for the seat belt. He frowned when he saw that there was none. “Where is my seat belt?”

“Gone,” Gladio replied, putting his phone away and reaching for his keys.

“You should get it replaced,” Ignis pointed out. “It’s not safe.”

Gladio snorted. “Nothing about this car is safe, Ignis.”  

“Then why do you drive it?”

“Because it’s cheap as hell to insure, and I don’t have time to go and find a new one,” Gladio shot back.

“Do you drive Noctis around in this? You shouldn’t.”

“Course not,” Gladio said, sighing. “I take one of the Crown vehicles whenever I take him places, same as you.”

“I use my own car.”

Gladio turned to look at him, frowning, and Ignis snapped his finger, pointing back at the road. Gladio rolled his eyes. “There’s no one else on this road, Ignis, shit,” he said. “And since when do you have a car?”

“Since I bought one three years ago,” Ignis replied.

“Oh.”

Ignis made a noise halfway between amusement and frustration. “Yes. _Oh._ If you paid a little more attention, perhaps you’d have noticed,” he said.

Yeah, like he was going to pay attention to a guy who hated him. But Gladio didn’t say that, biting his tongue as he turned onto a side road, intent on taking a shortcut to Noct’s apartment.

The rest of the drive was silent, not even the radio to break the quiet. Ignis pulled a sandwich out of the brown bag, devoting his energy to eating a late lunch, and Gladio immersed himself in the process of driving. He didn’t mind the silence; he preferred it that way, actually. Better than Ignis berating him, certainly. It allowed him to think about happier subjects, things he actually _wanted_ to devote time and mental energy to - things like Curio, and the end of their conversation, perhaps an hour before. 

 _I have to go,_ Curio had typed, _I’m meeting a coworker for a project later this afternoon. I wish I didn’t have to - I’d much rather spend the time talking to you._

 _Same here,_ Gladio had sent. _I’ll be busy for a few hours. And then I think I’m gonna go to the bookstore and look for some of those titles you recommended last night. But I'll text you later, when I can._

_Oh? You’ll have to tell me if any of them strike your fancy._

_**You** strike my fancy. _

Gladio hadn’t been sure of that last message, hesitating before he’d pressed the send button. But, hey, what the hell, Curio had said he liked bold, and so Gladio had been bold. It had been well worth his efforts, too, Curio’s response equally flirtatious and leaving no doubts in Gladio’s mind that his fledgling feelings were reciprocated.

“You missed the turn.” 

Gladio blinked, Ignis’ annoyed voice drawing him back to the present. “What?”

“The turn,” Ignis said, pointing to a building on the left. “You missed it.”

“Not a problem,” Gladio said, jerking the car into the turn lane and taking the next available road. “There’s a back way into the complex.”

The car’s sudden movement made Ignis reel, throwing him bodily into the door. He shot Gladio a murderous look as he righted himself. “Your driving certainly leaves something to be desired,” he snapped.

“Hey, never been pulled over, never gotten in a wreck,” Gladio retorted. “Think my driving’s just fine, thanks.”

Ignis muttered something - probably an insult - under his breath, but Gladio didn’t catch it. Nor did he even bother to dignify it with a response, focusing on pulling into a parking space near the back of Noct’s building and turning off the car.

“Okay, so I already talked to the building manager and the maintenance staff,” he said. “They know we’re coming, and they know what we’re doing.”

“And they were alright with this set-up?” Ignis asked.

“Like they’d argue,” Gladio said, shrugging. Ignis gave him a flat look, and Gladio added, “ _Yes,_ Ignis, they’re fine with it. Cleared it with ‘em this morning.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, heading around to the trunk. Inside were two cardboard boxes, one full of a small, special model of camera that could be discreetly anchored to the sides of buildings, and the other filled with spare wires, batteries, tape, and the like. It was standard stuff, the same equipment the Guard used in the Citadel’s cell blocks and interrogation chambers. He’d gotten it from Cor earlier today, along with a lecture on how the added surveillance wasn’t to be a substitute for keeping an eye on the prince.

He’d felt a bit insulted by that. As if he was going to forget the purpose and duty that had been drilled into him every day of his life since he’d been a kid.

But it was Cor, and Cor loved nothing more than shit-talking Gladio, so Gladio had let it slide.

“Is this it?”

Ignis had followed him out to the trunk. He was holding one of the cameras in his hand, turning the packaging this way and that in his long fingers.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, grabbing one of the boxes and motioning for Ignis to get the second. “This is the stuff.”

“Are you sure they’re… up to the task?” Ignis frowned, bringing one of the camera boxes closer to his face. “The product description leaves something to be desired.”

“Cor gave ‘em to me,” Gladio replied. “It’s what the Guard uses.”

“And he trusts them?”

Gladio took a deep breath, slowly counting to three in his head before he replied. Was it Ignis’ intent to get on his last nerve? Because he was really doing a hell of a job.

“Yeah, he does,” he said after a moment. “And so does my dad.”

Ignis hesitated a moment longer before grabbing the box Gladio had indicated. “Well, I suppose if the Marshal and your father think they’re adequate, they’ll suffice. I trust their judgment.”

_But not mine._

“So glad I got your approval,” Gladio muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Gladio slammed the lid on the trunk. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

“A wonderful attitude to have,” Ignis said dryly.

Gladio sighed, walking ahead a few steps to discourage further talking.

He had a feeling this was going to be a _long_ afternoon.

* * * * *

“I see." 

Regis looked pained, his face drawn back into a tight grimace. Clarus hated it. How he wished to reach out and wipe the sadness away. But they weren’t alone, and what they shared wasn’t public, and so he stood still, hands drawn into fists at his side.

“And this is a common complaint?”

Here, Nyx hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I wouldn’t say it’s… common,” he said lightly. “I’ve… heard some things. But I think ultimately people are concerned with more practical things - food, their jobs, family members serving on the front… most of them have too much to think about to worry about what the prince is or isn’t doing.”

“Most, you say,” Regis. “But not all.”

Nyx nodded slowly. “Not all.”

Regis looked up at Clarus then, shooting him a silent question.

 _No,_ Clarus thought sharply, frowning. _It’s too risky._ He shook his head ever so slightly, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t paying attention.

Regis stared at him a moment longer, and then sighed. He turned back to Nyx. “Keep listening, Nyx, and tell me immediately if these murmurings grow to be anything else,” he instructed. “We must keep on top of things like this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you someone you trust? Implicitly?”

Nyx frowned, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Someone that _I_ may also trust?”

Nyx nodded again.

“Good,” Regis said. “Have them keep an ear out as well. Two observers may catch more secrets than one.”

“I’ll tell her at once, sire.”

“You’re going back to the northern encampment today?”

“As soon as I’ve picked up a few things, yes.”

Regis pulled a letter from one of his pockets, pushing it across his desk towards Nyx. “Then I have one more favor to ask of you. Take this to General Drautos, if you will.” Nyx reached out and took the letter, slipping it beneath his jacket without looking twice at the envelope. “Make sure that he gets it - deliver it directly to him. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

Here, Nyx offered up one of his characteristic smiles. “It won’t, sire, I promise,” he replied.

The King smiled, though it was a weary, fatigued thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Very good, Nyx, thank you.”

It was a dismissal, and Nyx said his farewells before showing himself out. As soon as the heavy oak doors closed behind him, Clarus stepped forward.

“Regis, you can’t send Noctis to the front,” he said, keeping his voice low and quiet.

“Clarus-” Regis sighed.

“He’s just a boy, Regis, he isn’t ready-”

“He’s _twenty,_ Clarus, a man in the eyes of the kingdom and the law.” Regis lifted an eyebrow. “And I seem to recall you and I getting into some trouble when we were that age, too - some trouble with the _Empire_ , might I remind you.”

“That was different,” Clarus huffed. “ _You_ were different.”

“You don’t think Noctis would survive in combat?”

“I - that isn’t it.” Clarus paused, trying to choose his next words carefully. “He’s perfectly capable with a sword, Regis; Gladiolus has seen to that.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice even more. “But it’s not just the Empire that has its eyes set on Noctis, and you and I both know it. There are snakes in the grass.”

Regis didn’t quite meet Clarus’ gaze, eyes fixed on a point on his desk, and Clarus felt victorious. The feeling was short-lived, however, for Regis’ next question caught him off-guard.

“Is it any more dangerous for him there than it is for him here?”

Clarus hesitated.

“There’s already been one attempt on my life,” Regis continued. “I’m certain there will be more. One might even succeed.” He held up a hand to forestall Clarus’ complaint. “I know you’re doing your best to prevent anything else from happening, Clarus, but we must be realistic here. I’m a target. And as my heir, that makes Noctis a target as well. Those snakes, as you call them, are already circling, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. But they’re looking for him _here,_ not there. Perhaps if he was moved...”

It was a fair point, Clarus conceded. Assassins worked in secret, away from the killing fields of war - their talents were wasted on open ground. No, they were already in Insomnia, having long since infiltrated the kingdom.

So yes, if Noctis were removed from Insomnia, they would no longer have to worry about the possibility of waking to find him dead in his sleep.

Instead, they would have to worry about him facing down hundreds of Magitek troops, day in and day out. _Hardly any better,_ Clarus thought.

He sat down heavily across from Regis. “At least here, he isn’t also marching off to battle every other day,” he said quietly. “We can protect him from assassins - bodyguards, surveillance, background checks… I can’t protect him from a stray bullet, Regis, and neither can you.”

“No,” Regis mused. “But your son could.”

Clarus blinked. “Gladiolus?”

“Unless you don’t think he’s ready for this sort of thing, either?”

Clarus sighed. “No, he is,” he huffed. “Gladiolus is capable.” 

“I wager the Glaive could be relied upon as well - Nyx, Crowe, Libertus… there are numerous men and women who would be more than willing to protect my son from those who would wish him harm, on the field of battle or off. And so I ask you again, Clarus - is it really safer for Noctis _here_ than it would be for him there?”

“You’re contemplating this,” Clarus replied. “You’re actually thinking about it.”

Regis shrugged. “Nothing is set in stone,” he said. “But you heard Nyx, Clarus, and you told me yourself of the man who broke into the kitchens. The people know that Noctis hasn’t been sent off to war. The people see. Why should my son be spared when so many other children aren’t?”

He sounded torn, and Clarus thought he understood why.

But Regis had to see that the situations weren’t the same, that Noctis wasn’t just _any_ child. He had a purpose to play in all of this, a very important role that no one else could fill. If something happened to him on the field…

They were doomed.

Couldn’t Regis see that? Would Clarus have to convince him?

“Your son is different, Regis, Noctis is special-”

Regis made an odd noise at that, halfway between derision and exasperation.

“He _is,”_ Clarus persisted. “And not just because he’s your heir and the prince. He’s the Chosen King, the King of Light. You can’t risk sending him off to open war-”

“But what if that’s exactly where he is supposed to be?” Regis shook his head, frustrated. “You know the worst thing about prophecies, Clarus? They’re _vague._ Terribly, horribly, maddeningly _vague_ _._ Noctis is the King of Light, his time foretold. Wonderful. But what does that mean?”

“The Oracle-”

“Knows as much as I do,” Regis said, snorting, “which is to say, not very much at all. Believe me, Clarus, I have asked the gods for help more times than I can count. I’ve knelt at my bedside, praying for guidance, until my knees ached. They have no answer for me.”

“That doesn’t mean you should send Noctis away,” Clarus said. “What if something happens to you? He _must_ be here to take over. Only he can protect Lucis, only he can use the Crystal’s magic.”

It seemed he’d finally struck a chord, Regis slowly nodding. But the look he shot Clarus was pained, and Clarus knew that this was resting heavily on his heart.

“I don’t know what to do, Clarus,” Regis murmured. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

None of them did.

Clarus reached out and grabbed Regis’ hand, twining their fingers together in a silent show of support, and Regis quirked an eyebrow.

“Feeling sentimental today, Clarus?”

Clarus huffed out a breath, scowling, and Regis chuckled. But then he squeezed their linked palms, before bringing them to his lips and Clarus’ expression softened.

“You'll figure something out. You always do, Reggie." He twisted in his seat, looking at the clock on the wall. "Have you eaten today?” he asked.

“No,” Regis admitted. He sounded sheepish. And well he should - it was almost four in the afternoon, and Regis wasn’t in the best of health any more. He needed to eat in order to keep his strength up.

“I’ll get you something,” Clarus said, standing.

Regis smiled up at him. “What would I do without you, old friend?” he asked.

“Starve.”

The King laughed outright at that, dark green eyes sparkling with mirth. Clarus allowed himself a small smile in return, glad to hear the once-familiar sound. Regis laughed altogether too little of late.

All of them did.

* * * * * 

 **8/28, 9:36 p.m. < Curio > You bought ** **_how_ ** **many books?**

**8/28, 9:37 p.m. < Scipio > Eight. Why? They all looked good, and I couldn’t decide which to get, so I just got them all.**

Ignis shook his head, smiling, before typing out a reply.

 **8/28, 9:39 p.m. < Curio > Well, it appears as if you’ll be busy reading them for quite a while. ** 

**8/28, 9:40 p.m. < Scipio > Should hold me over til next week.**

It had been like this ever since Ignis had returned to his apartment - back and forth, back and forth, messages sent and received, their conversation covering everything from how their days went to what Ignis had cooked for dinner. Scipio was remarkably easy to talk to, Ignis found, and while he was never one to miss an opportunity to flirt, most of the time, his messages were easygoing, gentle, with a wry humor that had Ignis openly laughing on more than one occasion.

**8/28, 9:42 p.m. < Curio > Only next week? **

**8/28, 9:43 p.m. < Scipio > Normally it’d take me a bit longer, because of work and stuff. But I got nothing planned this week, so I guess it’s lots of reading for me. **

**8/28, 9:45 p.m. < Curio > Hmmm, nothing? **

**8/28, 9:46 p.m. < Scipio > Nah. Random lull in things, I guess. Happens occasionally. Too bad there isn’t another ball, yeah? I wish I could see you.**

Ignis wished that as well. He wished even more that he could throw caution to the wind and invite Scipio back to his apartment. They could talk, and sit next to one another, simply drinking in the other’s presence after a long day at work spent with colleagues neither of them seemed to care much about. They could-

They could kiss. Touch. Hold, bite, caress.

Ignis wouldn’t deny that he’d thought about it. In his private moments, when he allowed himself to think of such things.

But it was too soon for them to meet face-to-face with no masks or disguises, the need for some caution still too great. A few meetings and several hours worth of text messages weren’t enough for him to deem Scipio worthy of his unconditional trust. Inviting the man to his apartment could well be a recipe for disaster.

And, if Ignis were being completely honest with himself, he was... _enjoying_ the mystery. It made everything more intense, every sensation stronger, each exchanged message all the sweeter. There was something about not knowing who his secret admirer really was that made everything seem all the more… heady. Electrifying. Intoxicating.

The vibration of his phone, alerting him to a new message, pulled Ignis from his musings, and he looked down at the screen.

**8/28, 9:51 p.m. < Scipio > Can I be honest with you?**

A tingle of anticipation flitted up Ignis’ spine. This sounded as if it was going to be either very bad or very good.

He hoped it was the latter.

**8/28, 9:52 p.m. < Curio > Of course. I hope that you always are. **

**8/28, 9:53 p.m. < Scipio > I really wished I’d kissed you last time before you left.**

**8/28, 9:54 p.m. < Scipio > I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure how it’d have been received.**

Oh, yes, that was very good, indeed.

 **8/28, 9:55 p.m. < Curio > I assure you, it would have been ** **_very_ ** **well received.**

**8/28, 9:56 p.m. < Scipio > Yeah? **

**8/28, 9:57 p.m. < Curio > I must admit, I have thought of little else but how it would feel to have your lips on mine these past few days. **

**8/28, 9:58 pm. < Curio > Is that too forward of me to say? **

**8/28, 9:58 p.m. < Scipio > Just forward enough.**

**8/28, 9:59 p.m. < Scipio > Tell me more?**

**8/28, 9:59 p.m. < Curio > I imagine you’re a little aggressive, wont to push your partner up against a wall as you kiss them senseless. But also gentle - achingly, crushingly so, cautious of being too rough. **

**8/28, 10:01 p.m. < Scipio > Shit…**

**8/28, 10:02 p.m. < Curio > You needn’t be so tender with me, though. I’m not so fragile as to need your restraint.**

**8/28, 10:03 p.m. < Scipio > You like it a little rough, do you?**

**8/28, 10:04 p.m. < Curio > Little marks from where fingers dig into my hips, love bites adorning my neck, scratches from being pressed back, hard, against the wall… There’s a balance to these things, a fine line between pleasure and pain. I don’t mind toeing that line.**

**8/28, 10:04 p.m. < Curio > With the right partner, of course.**

When Scipio hadn’t responded after several long minutes, Ignis wondered if perhaps he’d done something wrong, been too bold after all. He stood, heading into his bedroom, for now ignoring the stirring in his groin their words had caused. Placing his phone and glasses on the nightstand, he began to take off his clothes, setting them in the hamper before pulling on a pair of pajamas. And if his hands lingered at his chest and hips, dragging over skin that felt two sizes too small, well, that was his business.

He checked his phone one more time before heading into the bathroom. There was still no response, and he pursed his lips in frustration.

Perhaps he’d misjudged things and spoken too quickly. Or maybe Scipio thought his words, quickly chosen without much thought, he could admit, were intimating more than he had actually meant.

He grabbed a report off his dresser before heading to his bed, what arousal he’d been feeling having died somewhere on the path from his sink to the medicine cabinet. Not that he’d been planning on doing anything about it; he was far too tired for that, and he’d already showered once tonight.

He didn’t feel like doing it again.

Just then, his phone buzzed, screen flaring to life on his bedside table, and Ignis grabbed for it eagerly.

**8/28, 10:16 p.m. < Scipio > Sorry for the late reply. I, uh, well. How to say this? **

**8/28, 10:17 p.m. < Scipio > That text did things to me, Curio. **

Ignis inhaled sharply, more than capable of reading between the lines to realize that Scipio was speaking of pleasuring himself at whatever image Ignis’ words had evoked. He put a hand to his mouth, stifling the groan that slipped from his lips.

The report slipped from his fingers, landing unheeded on the bedspread next to him as heat pooled anew in his belly. Almost involuntarily, he slipped a hand between his thighs and palmed himself, sucking his lower lip between his teeth at the feeling.

Fingers shaking slightly, he moved to type out a reply.

**8/28, 10:18 p.m. < Curio > Go on…**

**8/28, 10:20 p.m. < Scipio > I think I might get hard again just talking about it.**

Ignis smiled, letting his hand slide under the waistband of his pants, letting his body slide down the bed a little.  

**8/28, 10:21 p.m. < Curio > That makes two of us, then.**

**8/28, 10:22 p.m. < Scipio > Tell me what you’re doing right now.**

Dare he admit the truth? That his hand was stroking up and down the length his cock, that he was thinking of Scipio, wishing desperately that the other man was here to do this himself?

He groaned, thrusting up into his hand.

Gods, but he did.

**8/28, 10:23 p.m. < Curio > I’ve a hand down my trousers, my cock is hard, and though my own fingers will suffice, I can’t help but wish they were yours.**

He threw his head back into the pillow, waiting for a reply, hand moving faster on his cock now, working himself towards release.

It would seem a second shower was in order, after all.

Ignis couldn’t bring it in himself to be irritated.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! I was distracted with awesome kink meme prompts this past week and they were too enticing to ignore :o

**9/6, 4:31 p.m. < Scipio > Is this too much too soon? I hope not.**

Ignis looked down at the text message, smiling faintly to himself. _Not at all,_ he’d replied, barely a minute after he’d first read the question. _Things are perfect, just as they are._

 _Good,_ Scipio had replied. _The last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable._

He needn't have worried. Ignis was no prude, and it made little sense to deny the obvious - he was greatly attracted to the man calling himself Scipio, both physically and mentally. The connection between the two of them had been instantaneous, strong and magnetic.  It was thus only logical that any relationship that developed between them would move quickly.

 _And passionately,_ he mused, thinking back on the messages they’d shared last night. And, if he were frank, the night before.

There was no sense in being ashamed of such things, or in being put off by how quickly he’d admitted to desiring Scipio. He’d been quick to assure Scipio of such, and to his delight, he’d found his feelings on the matter had been reciprocated. They were on the same page. Or, at least, they _mostly_ were.

Scipio wanted to meet in person. He’d asked Ignis about the possibility every day since they’d started messaging back and forth. Each and every time, Ignis had said no. He gave the same excuses, too - they barely knew each other, what was the rush, and didn’t Scipio enjoy the mystery? In truth, Ignis would have very much liked to meet. He greatly desired to do all of the things that he had imagined in his fantasies - sliding his fingers through Scipio’s hair, pulling the clothes from his hard, muscular, body, standing up on his tiptoes to bring the other in for a kiss…

But not yet.

Or at least, not without the comfortable mask of a disguise on his face.

“Specs.”

Ignis looked up, slipping his phone into his pocket at Noctis’ voice. “Yes, Noctis?” he asked. “Are you finished talking to your father?”

The prince walked towards him, plopping down onto a barstool across from Ignis and propping his chin up on a hand. “Yeah, we’re done,” he said.

“All’s well, I hope?”

“Mmhmm.” Noctis shifted, setting his phone onto the counter below him. He played with it idly as he spoke, fingers tapping buttons on the screen, too fast for Ignis to keep track of their movements. “He has something that he wants me to do.”

“Oh?”

“Something he said you could help me with. You and Prompto both.”

Intrigued, Ignis leaned forward a bit.

“He wants me to… put together some kind of display. For the charity ball this Friday, the one supposed to raise money for the war relief programs.”

“A display? What sort of a display?”

“Something to get the nobles’ attention, he said. Something big, flashy. Didn’t give me much more than that.” He looked up, away from his phone. “I have an idea though.”

“Yes?”

“A photo collection,” Noctis said. “Pictures of people affected by the war. I figured Prompto could use the pictures for his portfolio when he’s finished, and you could help me pick our which ones to use for the ball, how to set them up.”

It was a good idea, Ignis had to admit. Photographs were real, visceral reminders that war affected more than just soldiers. Giving the nobility, who were largely removed from the front and the wartime problems like food shortages and goods rationing, such obvious proof that their donations were necessary might spur them on towards being more charitable. That was no doubt Regis’ intentions in assigning his son this project.

His primary intention, that was. Ignis had no doubt that Regis had an ulterior motive in asking Noctis to do such a thing. The King was clever and calculated, always trying to stay one step ahead of the rest of his populace.

It was a game - an elaborate, deadly game where the wrong move could get you killed.

The request to have Noctis create some sort of display for the ball served two purposes - first, and most obviously, it would entice the nobility to donate some of their ample fortunes to a deserving cause. Second, and less overt, it would allow the people to see that Noctis was taking on a larger role in the affairs and politics of Lucis. If successful, the move would allow Regis to refill his coffers and squash the rumors of Noctis’ idleness.

_Brilliant._

“Specs? Thoughts?”

“I like the idea,” Ignis replied, nodding.

Noctis visibly brightened. “Yeah?”

“Very much so,” Ignis said. “Have you spoken to Prompto about this?”

“Oh yeah,” Noct replied, gesturing to his phone. “He’s all over it. Already got a few ideas of places we can go, people we can talk to.”

“You plan on talking to people as well?”

“Yeah. That bit was Prom’s idea - get a few stories, write them out, and display them up alongside the photos. I, uh, thought you could help me with that.” This last bit was said rather sheepishly, the prince giving him a sly grin.

“Of course, Noct,” Ignis said, smirking. “I’ll proofread things for you.”

“Thanks, Specs.”

“So then.” Ignis reached for his day planner, flipping it open to the page that held the current week’s events. “Have you picked a date?”

Noctis scrunched up his nose. “Well, it’s gotta be done by Friday, so… as soon as possible?”

Ignis nodded. “Tomorrow, then. You have the morning free, after a short run with Gladiolus.”  

Noctis groaned. “Can we cancel that?”

“Not a chance.”

Both of them looked up at Gladiolus’ voice. He was still sitting on the couch, right where Ignis had left him after politely inviting him in along with Noctis earlier. He’d seemed content to peruse his fitness magazine, and so Ignis hadn’t felt the need to be more hospitable.

“I gotta get you in shape somehow,” Gladiolus continued, finally setting the magazine aside. “If you only show up half the time I schedule you, you’ll never get any better.”

“I’m in _fine_ shape,” Noctis retorted. “My fencing’s never been better - you just said so the other day.”

“That’s fencing,” Gladiolus grunted. “This is running.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as if that settled the matter.

“You should stick with your routine, Noctis,” Ignis said reproachfully.

Gladiolus eyed him curiously, as if he wasn’t sure why Ignis would be agreeing with him. Ignis had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’ll pick up you up once you’ve finished your run, we will go and get Prompto, and then we will head down to outskirts.”

“I’m coming too.”

Noctis frowned at his shield. “What?”

“And I want a full security detail trailing us at all times-”

“No,” Noctis said vehemently, waving a hand. “No way. I don’t want anyone following us, especially not a bunch of guys in military uniform. We’ll scare everyone off.”

“And crime has skyrocketed in the past six months in the outskirts,” Gladiolus shot back. “You’re the crown prince of Lucis, Noct, I’m not lettin’ you walk into a situation like that with no protection.” 

“I’ll have protection,” Noctis said, jutting his chin out stubbornly. “You can come, and Iggy and Prompto’ll be there too. That’s four of us.”

“All it takes is one bullet, and you’re dead in the street.”

Noctis made a frustrated noise. “So I’ll wear a bulletproof vest under my shirt, okay? But no followers! I mean it!”

Gladiolus scowled, opening his mouth to argue.

Ignis beat him to it. “Alright, Noctis, no followers,” he said. “But Gladiolus has a point - the outskirts are very dangerous, and there are a number of people who would hurt you or turn you over to the Empire if it meant they had something to gain, something with which to barter.”

“C’mon, Specs, not you too-”

“Listen to me, Noctis,” Ignis interjected. “I’m not suggesting we allow a full security detail to follow us around the city. It would draw too much attention. Gladiolus can have a team disguise themselves, ask them to blend into the background. They can keep an eye on things and maintain radio contact with us, warn us if looks like things are heading south.”

Noctis hesitated, still uncertain but unable to come up with a counterargument. “You can do that?” he finally asked, turning to Gladiolus.

The man nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Got people trained for just that type of thing.”

Noctis stared at him a moment longer, and then sighed. “I _guess_ that’s okay.”

“Go on and call Prompto,” Ignis urged. “Let him know the plans for tomorrow, and I’ll see about making you something for dinner.”

Noctis nodded, perhaps a touch sullenly, and walked off towards his bedroom, letting the door close behind him.

Ignis could feel Gladiolus watching him as he turned towards the stove, pulling out several pans and a pot and setting them on the burners. His eyes were practically drilling holes in Ignis’ back. What did the other man want, he wondered?

It would seem he was going to find out, for Gladiolus pushed himself to his feet and rounded the counter in a few easy strides, coming to stand beside Ignis as he pulled out some vegetables and began to cut them up.

“You backed me up,” he said.

Ignis paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Of course I did,” he replied. “Noctis’ safety is paramount, and your suggestions were valid.”

Gladiolus snorted. “Gee, thanks. Nice to know my ideas are _valid._ ”

Ignis wasn’t so sure why his word choice was upsetting, but he gathered that Gladiolus found it mildly insulting. “I only meant that they were good, logical ideas,” he said. “You _are_ the expert on security, after all.”

Gladiolus eyed him. “Yeah?”

Ignis nodded.

“Thanks, then.” Gladiolus shifted, relaxing back against the counter. “I, uh… guess I’m not used to you agreeing with me.”

“It’s happened before,” Ignis replied, throwing the now cut vegetables into a pan to sautee. “Once or twice.” Gladiolus stared at him, unresponsive, and Ignis sighed. “That was a joke, Gladiolus.”

“You, joking?”

“Surely you don’t think me so serious as to be incapable of humor.”

“No, no, I’ve heard you crack a joke,” Gladiolus replied. He paused, lips curving up into a smirk. “Once or twice.”

Ignis allowed himself a small laugh, a laugh Gladiolus returned.

Well.

It would seem perhaps Gladiolus wasn’t quite the insufferable brute he’d imagined. Perhaps he had been wrong to think so.

* * * * *

Ignis had spoken too quickly.

Gladiolus was _precisely_ the sort of insufferable brute Ignis had thought him to be. He sighed, watching the man shoulder his way into a conversation Noctis was having with a refugee from Tenebrae, the old woman practically quaking in fear at the sight of him. 

 _No subtlety,_ Ignis thought. _No tact._

It had been much the same all morning. Every time Noctis would approach a group of people, Gladiolus would find a way to wreck the conversation. It was almost impressive, really, how the mere sight of him seemed to derail all of Noctis’ plans. But no one wanted to talk to the prince with Amicitia looming over him, muscular arms drawn tight over his chest.

It was a small wonder Noctis had been able to make any headway with his project at all.

Ignis watched as the two trudged back over to where he was standing. Noctis’ expression was dark, angry. “Do you _have_ to do that?” he demanded, as soon as they were out of the woman’s earshot.  

“Do what?”

“ _Hover like that,_ ” Noctis snapped.

“Where you go, I go,” Gladiolus said, shrugging.

The prince made a frustrated noise. “No one will talk to me!” he complained. “They all think you’re going to rip their arms off!”

“Well, if they hurt you, yeah.”

“They’re not gonna hurt me! That woman was old enough to be my _great_ -grandmother, Gladio, what was she gonna do, club me with her walking stick?”

“If she had a bone to pick-”

“Gods, I can’t argue with you,” Noctis interjected, shaking head. “It’s like talking to a fence.”

Gladiolus frowned. “Well someone has to look after you-”

“Then, look! _Look_ after me, Gladio, and that’s it! _”_

They had reached Ignis by now, and Noctis tipped his head ever so slightly. “Where’s Prompto?” he asked.

“Over there,” Ignis said mildly, pointing to a small storefront adorned with flowers of all shapes and sizes. “Talking to the florist, I believe.”

“I’m gonna head out with Prompto for a bit,” Noctis said. Gladiolus frowned, taking a step forward, but Noctis held a hand out, forcing him back. “And _don’t_ follow me.”

Gladiolus froze, watching the prince as he stomped off to the join the blonde.

Ignis sighed. “That could have gone better,” he said dryly.

Gladiolus rounded on him. “I’m trying to do my fucking job, Ignis,” he snapped. “It’s not my fault His Highness is a little _shit_ who can’t tell a terrorist from a tree!”

“It’s less the fact that you’re trying to protect him, and more that you have no grace, Gladiolus,” Ignis said.

“What?”

“Your body language, your posture as you’ve approached people today - it’s entirely hostile, like you expect everyone to be a suspect.”

“Everyone _is_ a suspect, until they’ve proven I can trust ‘em.”

“But you mustn’t _treat_ people that way.” Ignis sighed. “Honestly, you’re so obvious. An enemy would see you coming a mile away.”

“Oh, and you’re so much better at this, huh? You notice that woman had a tattoo of the Tenebraen resistance on her forearm? Or that the last guy we talked to had scars around his wrists and ankles, like a godsdamn prisoner of war?”

“Of course I did,” Ignis snapped. “And did you notice that the two men standing across the way have been watching Noctis this entire time we’ve been standing here?”

Gladiolus paled, but to his credit, he didn’t turn around. “Armed?”

“Knives at the wrists, and strapped to their boots,” Ignis replied. “No guns that I can tell.” He took a drink from the water bottle at his hip, taking the opportunity to study the two men in more detail. “They’re young, but not professionally trained. Slim. Thieves, most likely.”

He offered the bottle to Gladiolus, who took it and wordlessly drank.

“No noticeable features,” Ignis continued. “Brown hair, tanned skin, nondescript, worn clothing.”

“Refugees?”

“Mmm.” Ignis considered. “I think not. Too well fed for that.”

Gladiolus nodded, his anger disappearing in light of this new threat, and pulled out his phone, pushing a few buttons in rapid succession. “Lemme know if they move,” he said. “I’m alerting Marcus.”

“Are he and your team close?”

“Close enough.”

Ignis attempted to be discreet, pretending to watch the antics of a group of children playing with a ball down the way. He kept the thieves in his periphery the whole time, waiting until Gladiolus had finished alerting the security team before he turned back.

“Are they on their way?”

“Yep. Time to go.”

Gladiolus put a hand on Ignis’ back, softly but firmly pushing him towards Noctis. Ignis was surprised at the touch, but he let himself be led away. This was Gladiolus’ area of expertise, not his, and while he might not have noticed the thieves, Ignis was sure that the other man had already thought of a way of this situation.

Sure enough, he sidled up to the two younger men, pretending to take an interest in the flowers they were looking at. As he leaned down to smell the roses, he tilted his head to the side, whispering instructions out of the side of his mouth. Noctis frowned and Prompto gulped, but to Ignis’ relief, neither of them made a fuss. They were able to thank the florist for his time and set off down the street the same as if that had been their plan all along, steps unhurried and nonchalant.

Ignis didn’t rest easy until they were back in the safety of the car, seatbelts buckled and doors locked tight. In the passenger seat, Gladiolus was already talking on the phone, speaking in coded language that Ignis didn’t quite understand.

He looked in the rearview mirror, the backseat’s occupants unusually quiet. “Are you alright, Noct?” he asked quietly.

Noctis met his gaze, his eyes oddly determined for someone who had just barely escaped a run-in with criminals. “Did they know who I was?” he asked. 

“Undoubtedly.”

“And they wanted to rob me.”

“Times are difficult, Noctis, the economy is floundering as this war drags on-”

“I saw the guys you pointed out to Gladio, Specs. They weren’t stealing because they didn’t have enough to eat.”

Ignis hesitated. “No,” he was finally forced to admit. “No, they were not.”

“Opportunists,” Gladiolus grunted. Ignis turned to the side, eyeing him. He noticed Ignis’ gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You disagree?”

Ignis shook his head. “On the contrary, I think you’re right on target,” he replied.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“That’s two days in a row you’ve agreed with me,” Gladiolus said. “Must be a record.”

Ignis pursed his lips and said nothing in response.

The rest of the drive back to the Citadel was quiet. Ignis elected to bypass Prompto’s house, making the executive decision that it would be safer for the young man if he stayed in the royal palace tonight. Just in case, of course. Prompto hadn’t protested, only nodding weakly at Ignis’ suggestion. He seemed more rattled than Noctis, his eyes wide, his posture fidgety.

At Ignis’ suggestion, Noctis took his quiet friend up to his rooms, muttering something to the blonde about pizza and video games as he went. Ignis watched them until they had faded from his sight before he turned to Gladiolus, intent on wishing the man farewell and then retiring to his own rooms for the night.

Gladiolus was doing much the same thing he was, still staring off in the direction Noctis and Prompto had gone. He shifted when he noticed Ignis’ gaze on him, raising an eyebrow.

“I think that’s enough excitement for one day,” Ignis said. He nodded curtly. “Thank you for you assistance today, Gladiolus. A wise move, all things considered.”

“Gladio.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to use my full name,” Gladiolus replied. “Sounds weird.”

“...alright.”

“And hey.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for backing me up out there,” Gladiol- _no,_ Ignis reminded himself, _drop the last syllable, as he requested -_  said _._ “I appreciate it.”

Ignis blinked, and then nodded again. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

They stood there a few more moments, the both of them uncertain of what else to say.

Unable to stand it any longer, Ignis offered him a quiet, “Well, I suppose I’ll see you later,” and then turned on his heel, walking towards the elevators. He half-expected Gladio to follow him, but when he looked back over his shoulder, the other was gone.

Odd.

This entire day had been odd.

He sighed as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. It had been a long day too. He was looking forward to taking his shoes off and relaxing for a while, making even indulging in a hot bath.

Yes, that sounded heavenly right about now.

 _And maybe,_ he thought to himself,  _If I'm lucky, I'll even have someone to talk to whilst I soak._

He hadn't taken his personal phone with him out on the field. It wouldn't have made sense. And yet, he'd had half a desire to, just the same, on the off-chance that Scipio texted him at some point during the day. It wasn't as if they spent all of their free time talking to one another, but sometimes, when he was at work, Scipio would send him little cheerful texts, tiny little blurbs wishing him a good afternoon. 

They never failed to bring a smile to Ignis' face.

And that was saying something, considering what he was often  _doing_ when he received the messages.

Having reached his apartment, he pulled out the key, stepping inside and setting aside his workbag before immediately heading off the bedroom to grab his other phone.

He told himself it wasn't silly, that it wasn't entirely hopeless of him. He told himself that this was normal behavior when you were dating someone.

His heart, thudding loud and quick in his chest, ignored his pleas to stay calm.

* * * * *

Gladio collapsed onto his bed, face first - and groaned, when he smacked his chin on something hard.

It was his personal phone, nestled down into the sheets where he’d slept with it the night before. He’d fallen asleep texting Curio, something that was happening more and more often of late. He couldn’t find in himself to be sheepish.

There were no new messages when he checked though, and he was surprised at how disappointed that made him feel.

It wasn’t so strange - they both had busy jobs, and they didn’t always get the chance to talk while they were at work. But sometimes, Curio would send him a clever little message, telling him what he was having for lunch, talking to him about a client he’d met with. They always brightened Gladio’s day, no matter what he was doing.

He’d hoped to come back to one today, but no such luck.

Fuck, but what a day.

He was glad he’d brought that extra security with them now, thanking his lucky stars Ignis had managed to convince Noctis to let the men tail them. If they hadn’t been there… well, he was confident he could’ve taken down two thieves on his own, but he’d always prefer to _avoid_ injuring Crown citizens, if he could. An attack on a citizen by a member of the Crownsguard, however justified, never made for good press.

The two thieves had been taken care of, he’d been informed - politely told to go their own way and forget they’d ever seen the prince and his retainers walking around the city outskirts. No harm done.

It was the best outcome they could have hoped for, honestly.  

Now, if only he didn’t have to file a report on the matter…

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Gladio blinked, looking down at it in surprise. A new message?

**9/7, 5:36 p.m. < Curio > You won’t believe the day that I’ve had.**

Grinning, Gladio brought the phone to his face, quickly typing out a response.

**9/7, 5:37 p.m. < Scipio > Tell me about it.**

**9/7, 5:37 p.m. < Curio > You as well? My, my. Rough days all around, it would seem.**

**9/7, 5:38 p.m. < Scipio > Not rough, really, just… well, I had to deal with a bit of a situation. No worries though, everything’s under control. Coulda gone a lot worse. **

**9/7, 5:39 p.m. < Curio > Ah. I can only imagine how stressful security mishaps must be.**

**9/7, 5:40 p.m. < Scipio > Worked this job for half my life, it seems, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. **

**9/7, 5:40 p.m. < Scipio > But hey, enough about me. What happened on your end?**

**9/7, 5:41 p.m. < Curio > As it so happens…**

**9/7, 5:42 p.m. < Scipio > Go on…**

**9/7, 5:43 p.m. < Curio > It would seem that my department had a little mishap with security as well. **

Curio’s department - Gladio frowned, trying to recall what it was Curio had said that he did. He was always vague when they talked work, giving Gladio some short, terse description of his jobs and responsibilities. Gladio _thought_ that he was someone’s assistant - a lord or a lady, maybe even a duke, someone high up in the political councils.

But he wasn’t completely certain.

**9/7, 5:44 p.m. < Scipio > Everything ok?**

******9/7, 5:45 p.m. < Curio > Oh, yes. We had a few security personnel on hand to deal with the situation, and it was neatly resolved in a matter of minutes. Gave us all quite a scare though. I’ve honestly never had something like that happen in such close proximity to me before.**

**9/7, 5:46 p.m. < Scipio > No?**

**9/7, 5:46 p.m. < Curio > Never.**

**9/7, 5:47 p.m. < Scipio > Well, glad to hear you’re ok. **

**9/7, 5:47 p.m. < Scipio > ...you are, right? These things can be jarring.**

**9/7, 5:48 p.m. < Curio > I appreciate the concern, but yes. I’m fine. Tired, but fine.**

**9/7, 5:49 p.m. < Curio > And on that note… I need to make dinner. It would appear I’m out of leftovers.**

Gladio messaged back one of those cutesy little emoji things, the one that looked like a crying face.

**9/7, 5:51 p.m. < Curio > Perhaps one of these days, I’ll cook something for you.**

**9/7, 5:51 p.m. < Curio > Would you like that? **

**9/7, 5:52 p.m. < Scipio > Like it? Hell yeah! I’d LOVE it.** 

**9/7, 5:53 p.m. < Curio > Then it’s a date.**

**9/7, 5:54 p.m. < Scipio > I’ll hold you to it :) **

There was no response, even after several minutes, and Gladio assumed that Curio had made good on his promise to start cooking something. It was about time he looked into doing so as well, he thought, pushing himself to his feet and padding into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, gauging what he had, which was…

... nothing. 

Two bottles of beer, a box of week old pizza that needed to be tossed, and some leftover condiments, to be precise.

He sighed, bringing up the phone and snapping a quick photo of the empty shelves. He sent it to Curio, along with a playful, _You sure that date can’t be tonight? ;)_

Not really expecting a response, he pulled up his contacts, dialing the number of his favorite burger joint, placing a quick order. It would be ready in twenty minutes, he was told, and so he grabbed his keys and threw on a pair of shoes, heading towards the door.

His phone buzzed right as his hand landed on the doorknob.

**9/7, 6:01 p.m. < Curio > Meet me on the Citadel’s roof in an hour. Bring a disguise elixir.**

Gladio stared down at the screen for a second, too startled to move.

It had been a joke, nothing serious. But Curio was… actually taking him up on the offer. It was a date. A date with _food_ and Curio’s company, and hey, he still wanted them to wear disguises, but it was a _meeting,_ an in-person meeting.

He could see Curio, hear his voice, touch his hand.

Kiss his lips.

Gladio quickly tapped a number into the phone and brought it back up to his ear.

“Hey, Vinnie? I’m gonna need to cancel that order.”     


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your continued support! It means the world to me :)
> 
> On a side note, I have finally gotten a job! :) Assuming all goes well, I'll be starting July 10, which means updates may become less frequent. I hope they won't, but I do want to throw that out there.

Ignis had no explanation for his current impetuous mood.

He wasn’t normally a rash person, his fits of caprice few and far between. His decisions were calculated, precise, and followed the best made, well-thought out plans. The invitation to dinner that he had extended to Scipio was none of those things.

And yet, as he stepped out of the elevator onto the Citadel’s rooftop, Ignis found that he didn’t give a damn.

He looked down at his watch as he walked over to one of several covered observation decks. He’d told Scipio to meet him on the roof in an hour’s time; nearly forty-five minutes had passed since, giving him perhaps a quarter of an hour to ready everything.

No time to waste, then.

This part of the Citadel was deserted, most people likely down in the cafeteria or having long since departed for their own homes for the night. As such, Ignis didn’t feel even the slightest bit bad for taking a set of outdoor furniture from its place near the building’s walls and moving it out onto the small private deck he’d selected. He adjusted the sides of the black awning next, attempting to block out some of the sun’s rays as it slowly dipped below the horizon.  

For the decorations, he had brought a simple black tablecloth and a few lightly scented yellow candles. Not to his style, those; they had been his prize in a white elephant gift exchange several years ago. If his memory was serving him correctly, the candles had been Iris Amicitia’s addition to the gift pool. Ignis had never had a use for them before. Now, however, he thought they might add a little ambiance.

He’d chosen clear plastic plates and cups, not wanting to cart a basket full of ceramics up to the roof. He made two place settings, adorning each plate with an elegantly folded red silk napkin, and then put several dishes of food in between them, keeping them covered so as to keep them hot.  

Finished with the set-up, Ignis looked down at his watch again - five minutes til the hour. More than time he put on his disguise, then. He reached down into a pocket, pulling out the disguise elixir he’d brought. He drank it quickly, waiting for its effects to take hold before checking his reflection in his phone.

Disguises elixirs were a marvelous invention, really. There were all sorts of them - ornate, gaudy designs meant to be worn at masquerades and costume parties, ones meant to make the user more attractive. And, of course, there were also elixirs that made the user appear entirely ordinary for when one wanted to blend into the crowd.

It was this last type of elixir that Ignis had brought to his lips. He had a few kept in reserve, buried in the bottom drawer of his desk. They were meant to be used in times of emergencies, if the prince and his retainers ever needed to quietly disappear in a crisis. But Ignis was nothing if not overly prepared, and his stock was roughly three times the suggested amount, and so he didn’t feel too bad for using one for… personal purposes.

And besides, he reasoned - this gave him a chance to test the elixir’s efficacy.

His appearance was now completely unremarkable. Though his height and weight remained the same, the entire structure of his face had been altered - his jawline was round instead of angular, his cheekbones less prominent, and his nose had become wider and rounded at the bottom, the tip curving upwards instead of down. Brown eyes, russet hair, tanned, slightly freckled skin… he could not have looked less like himself if he’d tried.

“Am I late?”

Ignis turned, lips curving into a smile. “That depends,” he said, eyeing the tall, blonde man standing near one of the potted plants that helped partition off the observation deck. “Were you here for dinner?”

The man grinned. “And some company,” he replied.

“Then you’re right on time.”

Scipio grinned, surprising Ignis when he stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It lasted only a moment, more a welcoming gesture than anything, but Ignis felt a pleasant warmth spread this his chest just the same.

“This smells amazing,” Scipio said, leaning over to pull back the aluminum foil covering one of the dishes. “What is-”

“Not that one,” Ignis said quickly, batting his hand away. “That’s the main course.”

Scipio blinked. “There’s more than one course?”

“Start with that one,” Ignis said, pointing to a smaller dish containing a frisee salad he’d thrown together at the last minute. “The dressing is in that little round container over there.”

Scipio removed the container’s lid, staring down at the salad long enough that Ignis half began to wonder if Scipio even _liked_ salad. But then the man motioned for him to sit down and began to serve them both a rather generous portion, and Ignis’ worries abated.

“You’re gonna spoil me, y’know,” Scipio said, reaching for the dressing. “I don’t eat like this on a regular basis.”

“No?”

“I get a lot of take-out, honestly.” Scipio shrugged. “Long hours.”

“There are simple meals you could learn to make,” Ignis replied. “Dishes that take thirty minutes or less to complete. I have a rotating list I make myself during the week.”

“Yeah?” Scipio chuckled, a rich, honeyed sound that went straight to Ignis’ core. “Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

“If you’d like,” Ignis replied.

“Hey,” Scipio said, pointing to his plate with his fork, “if you can do _this_ to a salad, I’d kill to see what you can do to a steak.”

Ignis smiled and reached for the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Then it’s a date,” he said.

“That’ll make three, then,” Scipio said thoughtfully, taking the glass Ignis handed him and bringing it to his lips. “Three dates."

“I suppose it does.”

“And you know what they say about the third date.”

Ignis bit his lip to hide the noise he wanted to make as a thrill of arousal sparked through him. Of course he knew the social significance of the third date. And, naturally, after several weeks worth of scandalous text messages saved on his phone, that was the direction they were headed.

But it was one thing to know that, and another thing to hear Scipio confirm it with his own words.

“I do, yes,” he said finally, eyeing Scipio over the rim of his wine glass. “Though of course, we haven’t even kissed yet. Not truly.”

“We haven’t, have we?” Scipio mused, grinning. Ignis wasn’t sure if he’d chosen an elixir meant to make him more attractive or one meant to make him look ordinary, but the movement drew plump, firm lips back across straight, white teeth, and he had to take another drink to wine to force himself to look away.

The main course was next. Ignis had chosen to make a pasta dish with shrimp and a creamy white wine sauce; it was one of his specialities, something he’d made for Noctis more times than he could count. It was rare that he found a dish the prince enjoyed, and so when he did stumble across one, he always kept its ingredients close at hand.

It was also quick to make, hence why he’d selected it for this evening.

Scipio was quite complimentary. “Gods, this is amazing,” he said, stuffing another bite of pasta into his mouth. Ignis had to cover his smirk with his hand. He should have been disgusted at the table manners Scipio was presenting, at how he had sauce at the corners of his lips.

Instead, he found the man's enthusiasm endearing.

“Scipio.”

“Yeah?”

“You have something on your face - just here,” Ignis said, pointing to the corner of his own mouth.

“Ah… fuck, do I really?” Scipio groaned. “Shit, I promise, I’m not normally this messy.” He picked up his napkin, dabbing at his mouth. “It’s just _really_ good-”

“No, you missed it,” Ignis interjected. “Here, let me-” Unthinking, he reached out and wiped it away with his finger.

He froze as soon as he realized what he was doing, his thumb still at the corner of Scipio’s lips.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have-”

Scipio, brown eyes never leaving Ignis’, turned his head ever so slightly, closed his mouth, and kissed the pad of Ignis’ thumb.

Ignis wanted to jerk his hand away, the heat rushing through him at that tiny, simple contact more than enough to startle him back to his senses, but Scipio was already rising, closing the distance between them in one long stride. He leaned forward swiftly, one hand settling against the curve of Ignis’ neck, and Ignis leaned in to meet him.

He blinked when Scipio stopped, just a few inches away from his face.

“I wanna kiss you,” he murmured.

“I wish you would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, pl-”

A pair of warm lips met his, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Ignis didn’t think he’d ever welcomed an interruption so much.

Scipio kept the kiss gentle at first, soft and chaste. But that wasn’t what Ignis wanted, not when he already felt so close to this man, so connected, and so he parted his lips, pressing forward. Scipio made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, deepening the kiss, and Ignis felt his toes curl in sheer want.

All too soon, Scipio was pulling away. “That was even better than I imagined,” he said.

“You imagined this moment?” Ignis asked.

Scipio chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. “More than you know.”

 

* * * * *

Noctis watched anxiously as his father flipped through the photographs.

It was hard to tell what the man was thinking, his brow furrowed, lips hidden by his thick gray beard. He hadn’t spoken since they’d said their hello’s nearly twenty minutes ago. Occasionally, his eyebrows would rise in surprise, or his mouth would twitch in amusement.

But that was it, the sole indication that he was focusing on the book of pictures and stories Noctis and Ignis had put together the night before.

Thinking of his advisor made his eyes flicked over to the side of the room, to see if he was as nervous as Noctis felt. But of course he wasn’t - Ignis was _never_ nervous. Or at least, he never _looked_ nervous. Or surprised. Or taken aback. Or caught off-guard. Or - well, anything other than completely in control of the situation.

It would have been creepy, if Noct weren’t so used to it by now.

Ignis met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. _Something wrong?_ he mouthed, taking a half-step forward.

Noct shook his head, waving him back, looking to his father to see if he’d noticed their silent exchange. But he hadn’t, of course, his gray head still buried in the pages of the notebook.

It was the waiting that Noctis hated. Patience had never been one of his strong suits, no matter how much Ignis had tried to instill it within him. He had to resist the urge to make some kind of noise, almost holding his breath in fear that he would let out a groan or a sigh and draw everyone’s attention towards him.

“Well.”

Noctis’ eyes snapped forward at his father’s voice.

“This is quite impressive, Noctis,” he continued. “Better than I had hoped for, even.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well done.”

“Thanks,” Noctis said, relieved and not a little pleased at the praise.

“Prompto took the photographs, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, he did. Though he wanted me to pick most of the subjects.”

“And you recorded their stories?”

Noctis nodded. “I thought it might be good to have both,” he said. “Words and pictures.”

His father nodded, flipping back to the pages until he reached the front of the book. “A good notion,” he said. “This was just the sort of thing that I had in mind when I asked you to oversee this project. Do you need any help making the display?”

Noctis grinned, swelling with pride in his efforts. He’d have to remember to thank Prompto for helping him. Dinner, definitely, and maybe a movie too.

Maybe a little something _else_ too, if they could find some time alone together.

“Nah, I got it. Iggy’s helping with the layout, and Iris is coming over later to help me put it together.”

Realistically, Iris was going to completely take over the project, not trusting Noctis’ opinions on things like color choice and decoration. But, then again, Iris was also a hell of a lot better at this sort of thing than Noctis, so he was more than happen to relinquish control.

“You have all the supplies that you need?”

“I planned on taking him to the crafts store later this afternoon, sire,” Ignis supplied, tipping his head in deference.

“Good, good.”

“We’ll have it ready for a final inspection tomorrow afternoon, and then I shall see that it’s personally delivered to the palace staff the morning of the event.”

Noctis barely suppressed a snort.

Like anyone was going to steal a bunch of poster board that vaguely resembled a school science fair project.

The king nodded, and then turned back to Noctis. “Now, I’ll need you to say a few words when I present the display,” he said. “Nothing much,” he added, noting the way Noctis opened his mouth in dismay, “Just a short recollection of your experiences in the city.”

Noctis groaned, pride disappearing quickly as it had come. “ _Dad_ -”

“I’m sure that it would mean a great deal to the men and women that you spoke with, if you were able to stand up for them like this.”

“Aw, man, you’re gonna _televise_ this?”

“Of course.”

He was fighting a losing battle. His father had that _earnest_ look on his face, the one that meant he really needed Noctis’ help with something, but didn’t want to outright force him into doing it. He could say no, refuse to do it.

But gods, wouldn’t that make him exactly the little shit Gladio sometimes accused him of being?

Still, though, a televised broadcast would go out to a _lot_ of people, and Noct wasn’t very good at this kind of thing, he never had been, and even with some time to practice, he wasn’t sure, and maybe it’d be better to just duck out of this one-

“I dunno, Dad, I’m no good at this kinda thing-”

“I can help you prepare something, Noctis,” Ignis offered.

Noctis hesitated. He knew it was one of Ignis’ responsibilities to help him with this kind of thing, but he felt bad making the guy work so hard on such short notice. This was the sort of thing Noctis was supposed to be able to do on his own now, the kind of thing he’d been training for his whole life.

But if Ignis _didn’t_ help him, he’d likely stare at a blank piece of paper for hours and hours until he just gave up and tried to _wing_ it, and _that_ would just be an unmitigated disaster.

“But it’s in _two days,_ that’s not enough time to throw something together-”

“Of course it is.” His advisor shot him a reproachful look over the rims of his glasses. “I seem to recall times in which we’ve had even _less_ notice, and you managed just fine.”

“You’re busy, Specs, I don’t wanna make you do this too-”

“I wouldn’t have offered to help if I didn’t have the time in which to do it,” Ignis informed him.

Noctis bit his lip, out of arguments. “You sure?”

“Quite.”

Between the two of them - his father still giving him that same entreating look, and Ignis staring at him expectantly - Noctis wasn’t sure how he was supposed to resist.

On second thought, maybe he wasn’t intended to.

He sighed in defeat, sinking back into the couch cushions. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

The smile his father sent him almost made it worth it.

Almost.

* * * * *

“Clarus, sit,” Regis said, sighing.

Clarus didn’t bother responding, too busy pacing up and down the length of Regis’ bedroom.

“We knew this was a possibility.” Regis patted the bed bedside him, urging the other into a seated position. “Sit. _Sit._ Quit stomping around like that. Gods, I hate it when you do that.”

“As bad as Gladiolus,” Cor added, from his chair at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, bite me,” Clarus snapped. He did stop pacing, however, coming to sit in the spot Regis had indicated - just barely though, his body just perched on the edge of the bed, his spine a tense, rigid line.

Regis snorted, snaking out a hand and pulling him backwards. Not expecting it, Clarus fell back onto his elbows. He glared at Regis, muttering something that was very likely an obscenity under his breath. Regis merely smiled serenely, turning back to Cor.

“Nyx is sure of this?” he asked.

“He had his suspicions, but Libertus confirmed it,” Cor said, nodding, handing over the letter in his hands. “He’s closer to Drautos and the rest of command. He’s privy to things Nyx isn’t.”

Regis took the document, eyes scanning over the page. It was written in a cipher, of course, the actual words making little to no sense. But to Regis, who had devised the code himself, years ago, it was as clear as day.

_Empire attacking key, critical points in defense._

_No foreknowledge, no warning._

_Guards dead, storehouses infiltrated._

_Traitor._

Regis let the letter fall slack in his hand, bringing his other hand up to rub at his temple. His head was already pounding from a long day of meetings and council sessions, and now this? It was the last thing that he needed, and it couldn’t have come up at a worse time.

Which, of course, meant that he needed to address it immediately, with no delay.

“Has Libertus any idea who the traitor is?”

“He’s having some trouble narrowing it down,” Cor replied. “Or at least, that’s what Pelna told me when he came to report yesterday.”

“Too many possible suspects,” Clarus growled.

“Not the least of which is Drautos himself,” Cor added.

“Drautos?” Regis shook his head, frowning. “No, it couldn’t be Drautos. He’s been leading the assault on the Empire for years. I hardly think they’d appreciate one of their own cutting down hordes of Magitek troopers.”

“Unless it’s all an act-”

“No,” Regis said, more firmly this time. “I refuse to suspect Drautos unless there is concrete evidence of a betrayal. I know Titus, I have since he was a boy and his village was destroyed. He wouldn't cross me.”

Neither Cor nor Clarus said anything in response, and Regis pursed his lips. “You think otherwise?” he demanded, first of his friend and then of his lover.

“I think that we shouldn’t rule anyone out,” Cor said slowly. “We can’t afford to. No one should be above suspicion.”

“Not even Drautos,” Clarus agreed.

Regis was confident they wouldn’t find anything on the general, even if Cor put his most trusted spies to the task. Titus’ village, his home, his _family,_ had been massacred thirty years ago, caught in a surprise attack the Empire had launched upon a nearby Lucian garrison. The idea that Drautos might turn traitor and _support_ the country that had taken so much from him…

It was absurd.

Asinine, even.

Which was why he reluctantly nodded, tacitly agreeing to whatever plans Nyx Ulric and his friend Libertus had for ferreting out the Lucian turncoat. He was confident that their inquiries into Drautos’ behaviour would turn up nothing, confident that his long-time friend had nothing to hide.

Cor, it seemed, didn’t share this trust.

“You want to go to the front?” Regis asked, surprised at his friend's suggestion. "In person?"

“A surprise inspection,” Cor said, nodding. “I want to talk to Nyx and Libertus face to face, see where their heads' are at. There might be more they aren't telling us, things they're afraid to commit to paper.”

“It’s dangerous,” Regis said softly.

Cor snorted. “I can take care of myself, Majesty,” he said.

Regis smiled. “I never meant to imply otherwise,” he replied. “But I feel it’s something that needs to be said, just the same. Use caution.”

“Take Monica and Dustin with you,” Clarus suggested. “That boy’s been itching for some fieldwork since he was recalled from the front a few years ago, and Monica’ll keep him in line.”

“You just want to get him out of your hair,” Cor retorted.

“What hair?” Regis said.

Clarus glared at him while Cor sniggered behind a hand.

“Very funny,” Clarus snapped.

“There’s no need to be angry, Clarus,” Regis continued. “Not all of us can grow into magnificent silver foxes as we age.” He fluffed his own hair as he said this, not missing the way Clarus’ eyes lingered on him despite the scowl on his face.

“If you’re done making jokes at my expense, I think we can end this little meeting-”

“Actually-”

Regis and Clarus both turned to Cor expectantly.

“I wanted to run something by you - a suggestion.”

“Go on,” Regis urged.

“Let me take Prince Noctis with me.”

“What?” Regis demanded sharply, right at the same time that Clarus growled, “Impossible!”

“Hear me out,” the Marshal said, sitting up straight in his chair. “You’re afraid people will accuse you of coddling him. You think people might resent that Noctis hasn’t been to the front, that he isn’t being sent there the way other kids his age are.

“So let me take him with me. It’ll be a short trip, no more than a couple weeks. He’ll get to see the front. You can publicize that he’s going to inspect the soldiers, bolster morale, give a few speeches while he’s there. It might silence some of the dissenters, and it’ll give the prince some hands-on experience with the war.”

Regis thought about this for a moment, ignoring the part of his mind screaming at him that this was too dangerous, too much, too soon. Logically, Cor had a point - several, actually, all good ones. Politically, it was a good move. He could even announce it at the charity ball tomorrow night; it would tie in nicely with the display Noctis was going to present.

The prince would go and rally the troops. The populace would see the heir to the Lucian throne playing his part in the war effort.

Two birds with one stone, really.

But… this was Noctis. His son.

His _only_ son.

The front was unpredictable, the Empire’s strategies ever-changing. If the main camp was attacked while Noctis was there… he would have to fight. Regis didn’t think anyone would be able to stop him, quite frankly. Though Noctis’ leadership had yet to be honed by responsibility and age, he wasn’t the type to sit back and let others fight his battles for him.

If the Empire somehow learned that Noctis had journeyed to the war zone…

Regis ran a hand over his face.

Beside him, Clarus shifted, drawing a little closer. “Reggie?”

“Your son,” Regis said quietly. “Gladiolus - would he be willing to go with Noctis?”

Clarus blinked. “My son would follow yours to the edge of the world and back,” he replied. “You know that.”

He did know that. He’d asked for reassurance as much as anything. He didn’t like the idea of Noctis going away like this, but if he had Cor and Gladiolus with him, he would have protection - and guidance, should it come to that.

“Ignis would probably come too, if you ask,” Cor interjected.

“And that other friend of his - the blonde one, the one who’s been training to become a member of the Crownsguard.” Clarus frowned. “What was his name again? I always forget his name.”

“Prompto,” Cor supplied. “Prompto Argentum.”

Ignis and Prompto would bolster the ranks of people protecting his son. Yes, with four of them there to support Noctis… well, Regis would certainly sleep a little easier at night. They might still get into trouble, of course. There was no telling what might happen to them in the field. But the chances of an incident were greatly reduced, and that was what was important.

Clarus snorted. “Four companions for the prince… almost reminds me of us, back in the day,” he grunted, gesturing to the three of them. “You, me, Cor… Weskham… Cid.” He looked up at Cor, smirking. “Guess it’s your turn to be the crotchety old man saddled with four young bucks.”

Cor said nothing to this, the tightening of his jaw the only indication he’d heard Clarus at all.

“Cid isn’t crotchety,” Regis protested. “He’s a dear friend. A very… cranky, ornery friend.” Unable to keep a straight face, he broke down into laughter by the end of his sentence.

“Your friend,” Cor pointed out. “He hated me.”

“Your own damn fault, that,” Clarus retorted. “You scratched his car.”

“He buffed that scratch out just fine-”

“You _scratched_ his _car._ Might as well’ve spit in his food, Leonis.”

Cor huffed and got to his feet.

“Oh, come now, you’ve made him mad,” Regis said, putting a hand on Clarus’ shoulder. “You know how sensitive he is, Clarus.”

“I forget sometimes.”

“I’m leaving,” Cor announced. “Some of us still have work to do.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Regis advised, smiling at his old friend. “You’ll work yourself to death.”

“No promises,” Cor replied, though he nodded. He hesitated a moment, and then asked, “You’ll tell me tomorrow? What your final decision is?”

Regis nodded, smile slipping a bit. “I’ll speak with Noctis first thing in the morning.”

Clarus waited until Cor had left before turning to face Regis more fully. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Regis snorted. “No,” he replied. “Not at all.” He sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ll ask Noctis what he thinks tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t wish to go, I won’t make him. But…”

“He won’t refuse,” Clarus murmured. “He won’t say no to you, Reggie.”

Regis grimaced. “I know.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a light chapter, mostly dialogue. But I wanted to get something up before I go out of town tomorrow! :)

Ignis was nervous.

He had awoken early that morning, his phone beeping insistently at him. He’d hastened to answer it, surprised when the King himself had been on the other end. He wanted to speak with Noctis, he’d said, as soon as was possible this morning.  

Ignis had arisen at once, too startled to sleep any longer.

Noctis had been just as taken aback as he was, blinking blearily at Ignis when he'd showed up at the prince’s door at seven in the morning.

“He wants to talk?” he’d asked. “About what?”

“I haven’t a clue, Noct,” Ignis had replied, ushering him back into the apartment and towards his shower. “But we had best get a move on. Your father said it was urgent.”

To his relief, Noctis hadn’t protested, making himself presentable while Ignis whipped up a quick breakfast. They’d left as soon as Noctis was finished, their steps brisk as they had headed for Ignis’ car and then back to the Citadel.

Now, as they stood in the entry hall, waiting as Clarus fetched the King, Ignis found that he was quite ill at ease.

What did the King want?

Was it serious?

Was something wrong?

He had been very vague on the phone, offering no details save those which were necessary. Had Ignis’ mind not been fuzzy from having just awoken, he would have thought to ask more questions. As it was, he was just as confused as Noctis, and he didn’t like it - not one bit.

He looked up at the sharp clicking of Clarus’ bootheels against the marble floor. Ignis straightened, a hand on Noct’s back to push him forward.

“Sir,” Ignis said, tilting his head deferentially to the King’s Shield.

Clarus returned the gesture. “Highness, Ignis.” He waved a hand, motioning for them to fall in line with him. “His Majesty is ready to see you now.”

“What is this about?” Noctis asked, not bothering to use the formal tone Clarus had adopted. “Is something wrong?”

“I - no,” Clarus said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say, then?”

“You’ll see, soon enough.” Clarus reached for the handle of the door before them, ushering them forward. Ignis tried to meet his eye as he passed over the threshold, but the older man was looking down, his gaze fixed on the floor.

The King was inside, sitting on a low couch. A plate of coffee and pastries sat before him on a table, mostly untouched.

He looked… weary, Ignis noticed. Tired. Old.

Ignis knew the war was exhausting Regis. Though no one spoke of it openly, all of the nobility had seen the changes. They had all seen Regis in his youth, hair black and shining, body lithe and trim. Now, a scant twenty-five years later, and he was a fading old man, the magic he controlled in order to protect the city of Insomnia taking a heavy toll on him. It was one of the reasons he was so hellbent on ending the war with the Empire during his lifetime, why he had been so much more aggressive than his father, the late King Mors, had ever been.

He was also not alone.  

Across from the King sat Gladio, a porcelain teacup dwarfed in his large hands, and beside him was Prompto.  

“Prom?” Noctis asked, surprised. He hastened to the seat at the blonde’s side. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Prompto said, smiling. “I, uh, well… funny story, actually.” He gave a nervous laugh, fidgeting on the leather sofa. “Your dad called me up and asked me to come. Gladio picked me up.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.” Prompto turned to Gladio then, shaking his head. “Dude, never again though. Your car is a death trap.”

Gladio rolled his eyes, and Ignis fought to hide his smirk.

“My car is fine,” Gladio retorted.  

“If by ‘fine’, you mean ‘barely road-worthy’, then yes, it is _just fine,_ ” Ignis added. He took the seat beside Gladio, ignoring the scowl the other sent his way.

It was Noctis who saved Ignis from the man’s scathing retort. He turned back to his father, a frown on his face.

“Okay, Gladio’s junk heap aside - what’s going on?”

The King nodded, clapping his hands to his knees. “Yes, yes, to business, then. Noctis, there is something that I wished to speak with you about. Something… time-sensitive, shall we say. I’ve asked your friends here to join us because this concerns them as well. But first, please, help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the coffee and pastries. He smiled. “Don’t make me eat all of this myself.”

Ignis murmured his thanks and poured himself a cup of coffee, Noctis reaching for something round and covered in sugary, white icing at the same time. He nibbled at it, barely taking more than a mouthful in the span of minutes it took Regis to begin to speak.  

“It’s… difficult to begin,” he admitted, sighing.

Clarus moved to stand behind him, nodding ever so slightly to the King as he passed. The others didn’t seem to notice, but Ignis didn’t miss the gesture.

His eyes narrowed, wondering exactly how much the King’s Shield already knew.  

“Cor is going to the front,” Regis explained, finally looking up to meet Noctis in the eye. “A surprise inspection of the main command center. He is also going to convene with our intelligence agents there, to see if they’ve managed to discover anything new about the Empire’s plans.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “He has suggested that you accompany him.”

Noctis blinked. “Me?” he asked. “Go to the front?”

“For roughly two weeks, not including travel time,” Regis said, nodding. “He would show you around the camp, introduce you to the soldiers, and give you a chance to speak with the officers. General Drautos has mentioned that he would like a private word, as well.”

“I…” 

“It would be dangerous,” the King continued. “This war has been... unpredictable at best. If the Empire somehow manages to learn that you’re on the front lines, there could very well be an attack.”

“Do you… want me to go?”

The King grimaced. “I am not keen on putting you into that sort of situation, no,” he said slowly. “But it isn’t a bad suggestion, and it would do much to quell the rumors of your inaction. It would also give you an opportunity to meet the soldiers, learn firsthand how the war is going… something you will need to learn very soon, regardless.”

Ignis took a sip of coffee to hide his dismay, his hand shaking slightly as he brought the cup to his lips.

For Regis to say that this was dangerous was a vast understatement, in Ignis’ opinion. The front was a _terror,_ a vast network of trenches and battlefields littered with shrapnel and the bodies of the dead. It was said that smoke clogged the air, so thick one could barely breathe, and the stench could be sensed for _miles._ Such was the reality of a war of attrition, of two armies who had settled in, made fortifications, hoping to one day find a weakness in the other’s defenses.

And he was seriously contemplating allowing Noctis to go there?

It was obvious why the rest of them were here, then. They were to serve as Noctis’ retainers, to protect and guide him should something terrible befall them.

Ignis was shocked the King would even _contemplate_ sending his only son and heir into such a situation.

But then he recalled the King’s last words, and he frowned. _Something you will need to learn very soon,_ he had said. He had said that for a reason; there was a secret there, some truth he wasn’t quite ready to give voice to.  

His health was Ignis’ first guess. The King’s stamina had been flagging for some time now, and it was rumored that he was relying more and more on his subordinates to do the tasks he had once seen to himself. Was it that bad? Was the situation that dire that needed to teach Noctis as much as possible as quickly as he could?

His second thought was another assassination attempt. Ignis knew of at least one already, and if the Empire was getting bolder...

 _He isn’t ready,_ Ignis thought. _There isn’t enough time-_

“Okay.”

Ignis blinked.

“I’ll go.”

Regis was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. _He doesn’t want Noctis to go at all,_ Ignis suddenly realized. _He’s as hesitant about this as I am._ Why then, would he go through with the plan?

There was something he didn’t know, some vital bit of information he was missing. There had to be - it was the only explanation for this sudden request.

Ignis intended to find out what it was.

“Are you certain, Noctis?” Regis asked, his voice very quiet.

To his credit, Noctis hesitated only a second before nodding. “If it’ll help,” he replied.

The smile Regis had given him had been more of a grimace.

The rest of the hour was spent hammering out the details. Regis would announce the trip tomorrow at the charity ball, right after Noctis had presented his display to the nobility. They would spend the rest of the day today packing, and then, the morning after next, they would set out for the front - all four of them, under Cor’s supervision. Several other members of the Crownsguard were going as well; for additional protection, the King had said. Anything to keep them as safe as possible, it seemed. He was even allowing them use of the Regalia, his personal, armored luxury car, for the duration of the trip.

It all happened so fast - Noctis was ushered away by Cor, who’d arrived halfway through their preparations, to select the ceremonial military uniforms he’d need for addressing the troops. Prompto left with them at Regis’ suggestion, in need of military-style uniforms himself.

Ignis couldn’t help but think it was a plot to get him and Gladio alone.

His suspicions were confirmed when Regis turned towards the two of them, all seriousness once more.

“If I may be so bold, I have a further request to make of the two of you,” he murmured.

 _Here it is,_ Ignis guessed. _The missing piece._

“What I haven’t told Noctis is the reason Cor is visiting the front for an inspection in the first place,” Regis continued. “As I’m sure you’re both well aware, it is highly unusual to send Cor himself to conduct such an inspection.”

Gladio scooted forward in his seat a little, setting his empty teacup down on the table. “I was wondering about that, yeah,” he admitted.  

“There have been… rumors of late.”

“Rumors?” Ignis repeated. “What sort of rumors, sire?”

“There’s a traitor,” Clarus interjected, coming around and sitting down beside the King. Ignis blinked at this startling lack of deference to his liege, but neither Regis nor Gladio looked even the slightest bit discomfited. “Maybe more than one. Someone is giving intel to the Nifs - letting them know where we’ll strike, where our fortifications are weakest.”

“Four supply stations have been hit in the past two weeks alone,” Regis added, shaking his head.

Gladio frowned at his father. “Who’s on the case?” he asked. “Nyx? Pelna?”

“Nyx and Libertus,” Clarus replied. “They work best with each other. Crowe’s in on it too, but she was recently transferred to another division.” He turned to Regis. “Drautos’ doing.”

Regis scowled at that, Ignis was quick to notice. But if Clarus noted the King’s ire, he didn’t show it.

“It was a routine transfer,” Regis said. “Besides, Clarus, he transferred Crowe for _Pelna._ Not someone we know is in his pocket, like that Lazarus fellow.”

Clarus shrugged and turned back to his son. “Cor is going to speak with them in person.”

“Think there’s something they’re not writing down?” Gladio guessed.

“There must be,” Regis replied. He’d taken one hand and brought it up to his face, rubbing at his temple. “There _must_ be something that we aren’t seeing…”

“Cor will find out the truth,” Clarus said, surprising Ignis again by putting a hand on the King’s knee.

Gladio seemed to notice it as well, for he quickly cleared his throat, and Clarus’ hand jerked away. “So,” he said. “Noct’s a distraction.”

“Much as I hate it, yes,” Regis said.

“The attention will be on him while Cor’s working.”

“Precisely,” the King said, nodding. “Though I’d like you to do what you can as well, Gladiolus. Whatever intelligence you can gather will help.”

Gladio nodded.

Ignis watched the exchange, begrudgingly forced to admit that Gladio was quite good at what he did. He and his father continued to speak for several minutes, comparing strategies and exchanging tactics. He was in his element, quiet and professional, and it was quite evident that he took Noctis’ safety very seriously. It was a side of Gladio he’d never seen before - or was it that he’d never cared to notice?  

The thought that he might have entirely misjudged the other was startling enough that he missed the question Regis asked him.

“Ignis?”

“Apologies, sire,” Ignis said quickly, “I didn’t catch that.”

“I had hoped that you too would be able to provide us with whatever observations you can make while you’re at the front,” Regis said. “You and Gladiolus occupy different niches in Noctis’ life - you’ll be in different places.”

Ignis turned to Gladio, whom he found to be nodding in agreement. “We can cover more ground that way,” he said. “I have some books on recon, if you wanna borrow ‘em.”

“Recon?”

“Reconnaissance,” Gladio said. “It’s information gathering-”

“No, I know what it means,” Ignis said, shaking his head. “I - yes, that would be helpful. If you don’t mind lending them to me.”

“We can go get 'em now, if you got time.”

“Yes, yes, go,” Regis said, waving the two of them off. “I just wanted to brief you on the real situation before you left. Cor can speak to you more at length later, if you wish.”

Ignis stood, still a little out of sorts, bowing to the King before following Gladio out of the door and back to the elevators. Gladio waited until the doors to the King’s private chambers had slipped shut before turning to Ignis.

“So, how fast you read?”

Ignis blinked. “What?”

“How fast d’you read?”

“Fairly fast, I suppose,” Ignis replied, frowning. “Why?”

“Well, I got about fifteen books I could let you borrow,” Gladio explained, “Some are pretty basic, some go into a lotta detail. And if we’re leaving day after tomorrow, you won’t have a lot of time to read before we get to the front. So I thought I’d ask how quick you read, see if you wanted bigger books or shorter ones.”

“Well,” Ignis said as they stepped into the elevator, “I would prefer to be well-informed, even if it meant giving up a few hours of sleep. And I can always read in the car.”

“Yeah?” Gladio shook his head, jabbing at the button for the lower level that housed the parking garages. “Doesn’t make you sick or anything?”

“I - no, it doesn’t.”

“Hey, just asking,” Gladio said. “I can’t read for too long in the car or I start gettin’ dizzy. Couple hours’ my limit.”

Ignis frowned. “I didn’t know you like to read,” he said.

Gladio snorted. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Fair enough, Ignis supposed.

It wasn’t until they had gotten into Gladio’s car that Ignis realized he would be visiting the other’s apartment for the very first time. He didn’t think he even knew the address.

He should know it, he thought. He knew Prompto’s address. He knew where the other members of the Crownsguard lived. Why would he not know where Gladio lived? It was shameful of him, he had to admit; he had allowed his personal feelings for the man get in the way of good, common sense. 

If he could rectify that, he would.

They pulled into a small, neat little complex off one of the main roads, the parking lot out front surrounded by a tall, wooden fence. Gladio stopped in front of a building with a large numeral for three hanging off the siding, indicating that they should get out.

Ignis followed him up to the second floor, and Gladio fished his keys out of his pocket.

“Fair warning,” he said. “I’m not as neat as you.”

“Is anyone?”

“I heard that.”

If he noticed the flush on Ignis’ cheeks as he passed through the doorway, Gladio didn’t mention it.

The room within was small, but filled to the brim with furniture. A sofa and several chairs sat back against one wall, bookcases lined with stacks upon stacks of books taking up the rest of the space. Ignis recognized quite a few of the titles, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers along the worn spines.

“Sit tight, be back in a sec,” Gladio said, shutting the door and heading off down a hallway.

He returned a moment later, a large stack of books in his arms. He took them over to a coffee table, pushing aside several remote controls and a game controller to make room.

“C’mere,” he said, motioning for Ignis to sit next to him. “Pick out what you want.”

Ignis did as requested, settling into the soft leather cushions beside Gladio. There was more give to them than he expected, his knee bumping into Gladio’s as he sat. He shifted away, murmuring an apology, and grabbed for the first book.

“That’s a good one,” Gladio said. “Short, right to the point.”

“Yes?” Ignis looked down at the cover, quickly flipping it to the back to see the summary.

“One of my favorites,” Gladio admitted. “But if you want breadth, you gotta have… this one.” He pulled a larger book out from the middle of the stack, inadvertently sending several books crashing to the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said, grabbing for them.

“It’s not a problem,” Ignis said, picking up the larger book with his other hand. The reviews on the dust jacket were quite favorable, if a little glowing for Ignis’ personal taste, and he placed them neatly to the side.

“Those two’re good. Want any more?”

“Perhaps one other,” Ignis replied. Three seemed a good number to him, and Gladio nodded, picking out a middling sized book and handing it over.

“Some good case studies in that one,” he said. “Interesting stuff.”

“And useful, too. Thank you for letting me borrow them.”

“Yeah.”

Gladio was staring at him, an unspoken question on his lips.

“What is it?” Ignis asked, frowning.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ignis put the books in his hand to the side, turning to face Gladio more fully. “You just did,” he said lightly, “But please, go on.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “It’s about this trip,” he said. “Are you… you nervous?”

Ignis considered this for a moment, eventually shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say that I’m nervous,” he said slowly. “More… apprehensive, I suppose is the better term.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, exhaling a low, shaky breath. “Same here.” He shook his head. “Gotta say, when my dad called me up this morning, I didn’t think it was gonna be because we were gettin’ shipped off to the front.”

“Oh? And what did you expect?”

“Something about uppin’ Noct’s security, maybe,” he said. “I dunno. Coulda been a lot of things.”

He fell silent, eyes distant as he mulled something over. Ignis didn’t like the silence that lay between them, heavy and full of meaning. “I hope Noctis is ready for this,” he murmured, unable to bear it any longer. “I hope he’s…”

“Yeah,” Gladio said. “I know.”

“I worry about him, and the front is so dangerous…”

“We all worry. But hey,” he added, offering Ignis a rare grin, “He’ll have us to keep his head on straight. And Cor. He doesn’t take shit from anybody.”

“Not even the King?” Ignis asked, smirking. 

Gladio snorted. “You should hear some of the shit he says to me dad,” he said.

_Speaking of Clarus…_

Ignis hesitated, uncertain if he should ask the question he wanted to ask. It wasn’t his place, wasn’t his business, and yet… well, maybe Gladio didn’t know the answer anyways. And he didn’t want to make things awkward between them, not when - for perhaps the first time in the entirety of their relationship - they were actually getting along.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Excuse me?”

“You got a question,” Gladio replied. “So spill.”

Now it was his turn to smirk, and Ignis was startled to find how appealing the slight shift of Gladio’s facial features was. When he wasn’t scowling in Ignis’ direction, but smiling instead… well, Ignis had never thought Gladio _unattractive._ He wasn’t blind. But he’d never really stopped to consider the other’s features, too busy scowling at or arguing with him to notice how handsome he was.

“Ignis?”

His silence had drawn Gladio’s attention, and Ignis cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said quietly. “I was distracted.”

Gladio frowned. “By what?”

“It’s not important.”

Gladio eyed him curiously, and then sank back into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, back to the subject then. You had a question. Ask.”

“It might be personal.”

“Well, shit, now I’m dying to know,” Gladio said.

“It’s about… your father.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the King.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Forgive me if this is intruding, but are they…”

“Sleeping together?” Gladio snorted. “Yeah.”

“...I was going to ask if they were involved, but I suppose that answers my questions as well.”

Gladio wasn’t looking at him anymore, brows drown down over his eyes, and Ignis wondered if he’d touched on something private, some old argument that was better left alone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“What?” Gladio blinked. “No, it’s - shit, it’s not a big deal. It’s just… my dad doesn’t know I know, yeah? He never told me or Iris about it.”

“I… see.”

“And I don’t care that they’re together,” Gladio continued. “Not at all - hell, everyone deserves a chance at love, two chances, even, and if they found that with each other, who am I to complain?”

“Even if they’re two men?”

Gladio frowned. “Why would that matter?”

“It doesn’t, to me,” Ignis clarified. “But there are certain… people who might think otherwise.”

“Yeah, idiots.” Gladio rolled his eyes, displaying exactly what he thought of that particular opinion. “But I do think that’s one reason they’ve never made it public.” He shrugged. “Easier this way, I guess. Not to mention the scandal it would cause.”  

“Oh?”

“The King and his Shield? You kidding me? That’d be front page news. And they don’t need that, not with all the other crap they gotta deal with.”

“You seem to have given the matter a good deal of thought.”

Gladio hesitated. “I thought about confrontin’ him once,” he admitted. “Long time ago, back when I first found out. I was just so angry that he didn’t tell us, that he’d hidden it from me'n Iris. Did he think we would care? That we’d be mad?” He shook his head, sighing. “Luckily, I didn’t say anything. And I get it now, I really do. They love each other. It’s their relationship, their secret.”

“But…?”

“ _But_ I never know how to act around them. Should I tell ‘em I know? Pretend I don’t know? And how the hell do I act around Regis? He’s like a second father to me.”

“Quite the dilemma,” Ignis mused. “It must be difficult to be around them so often and not mention it.”

“You have no idea,” Gladio muttered. “I dunno. Maybe it’s easier this way. I don’t ask about his relationship, he doesn’t ask about mine.”

That gave Ignis pause. “I didn’t know you were dating someone,” he said quietly.

“It’s new,” Gladio replied.  

“Ah.”

“Might not even be a relationship, to be honest,” Gladio mused. “We haven’t had the whole ‘boyfriends’ talk yet.”

“Boyfriend _s_?” Ignis repeated.

“Yeah, plural. He’s a guy.”  

Ignis stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “I guess you were right,” he said. “I suppose there is a lot I don’t know about you.”

Gladio snorted. “Well, we got three weeks of fieldwork together coming up,” he said. He offered Ignis another smile, and this time Ignis returned it. “You got time to learn.”

Ignis laughed. “I suppose I do.”

An hour ago, the prospect of it would have daunted Ignis - three weeks in close quarters with Gladiolus Amicitia, a man with whom he had previously thought he had little in common. His own personal version of hell, he’d have once thought.

Now…

Well.

The thought of it didn’t seem so bad after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey, guess who decided to stop being a scrub and actually write a chapter for one of her ongoing projects instead of just picking up a new one? 
> 
> this girl! 
> 
> hopefully next chapter won't take me so long to finish. 
> 
> also, fun fact, my phone autocorrects "Scipio" to "Scorpio", so if you see a reference to a random constellation, rest assured it's really Scipio and I didn't catch it, lmao

**9/4, 10:31 p.m. < Scipio > A business trip, huh? **

**9/4, 10:33 p.m. < Curio > Yes. My supervisor wants to make trip to his family’s mines, to check on the operations there. I would have politely declined, but seeing as how I manage most of his accounts, it seemed… unwise of me to refuse, if I wish to keep my position.**

**9/4, 10:34 p.m. < Scipio > Nah, I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do, right? **

**9/4, 10:34 p.m. < Curio > Precisely.**

**9/4, 10:35 p.m. < Scipio > Actually, that kinda works out well.**

**9/4, 10:36 p.m. < Curio> Oh?**

**9/4, 10:37 p.m. < Scipio > I gotta go out of town, too. **

Ignis frowned, his phone going slack in his hands. Leaving the city of Insomnia wasn’t exactly unheard of, especially among people who could quite easily defend themselves. But for a member of the palace security to do so?

It seemed… odd, to say the least. But he didn’t want to come right out and say that in a message, lest he come across as accusatory.

**9/4, 10:38 p.m. < Curio > I wasn’t aware that palace security left the Citadel, save when they were off-duty.**

**9/4, 10:40 p.m. < Scipio > We don’t, usually. This is a special case. Got some new recruits to train, and my boss wants me to take ‘em out on the other side of the Wall. Field training, and all.**

Ah.

That made a little more sense.

**9/4, 10:41 p.m. < Curio > And how long will you be gone? **

**9/4, 10:42 p.m. < Scipio > Depends…**

**9/4, 10:42 p.m. < Curio > On what?**

**9/4, 10:43 p.m. < Scipio > What kinda incentive I got to come back. **

Scipio ended the text with a winking face, and Ignis didn’t miss the implications. But standing in the corner of a crowded ballroom, surrounded by nobles who would leap at the opportunity to see anyone else experience even a moment of discomfort, hardly seemed the time or place to contemplate such things. Much as he would have loved to type back a flirtatious response, he resisted the urge, instead pocketing the phone and forcing himself out of the corner and into the crowd.

In so doing, he ran straight into Gladio.

“Shit,” Gladio cursed, reaching a hand to steady Ignis. “You okay?”

His hand was big and warm, surprisingly gentle where it lay on Ignis’ bare arm. It felt… nice, Ignis realized. Comforting.

He shrugged the inane thought off, focusing instead on the man standing before him. “I’m fine, thank you,” he replied stiffly. “I’m sorry for knocking into you.”

Gladio shrugged off the apology, taking a step back now that Ignis had righted himself. “It happens,” he said, sparing a glance down at his phone. He frowned at the screen.

“Is something the matter?”

Gladio looked up, confused. “What?”

“You looked disappointed,” Ignis explained. “I thought… never mind. I shouldn’t intrude.”

“You aren’t,” Gladio replied, waving a hand. He slipped the phone into the breast pocket of his shirt a moment later. “I was talkin’ to someone, but I guess they had to go. Didn’t reply to my last text.”

“I see.”

Gladio plucked an appetizer from a tray as a server passed them, popping the tiny morsel into his mouth. “So,” he said, after he’d swallowed, “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Define ‘ready’,” Ignis replied.

Gladio snorted. “Yeah, I hear you,” he said. “Guess this isn’t one of those things you can really prepare for.”

“Not nearly as much as I would like,” Ignis admitted. “We weren’t exactly given much advance warning.”

Gladio nodded, walking a little out of the ways and stepping into a more private alcove. His actions implied Ignis was to follow, and so he did, curious as to what Gladio had to say to him. It was their last night in Insomnia for several weeks - the last bit of time they’d have to themselves for quite a while. And yet he wanted to talk to Ignis, and not someone else? Not this boyfriend that wasn’t quite a boyfriend he’d mentioned the other day?

Strange, that.

“Dad mentioned something to me, just this morning,” Gladio murmured, keeping his voice low despite the seclusion the lush curtains surrounding their little niche provided. “New intel, just came in - it’s about the front.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Nyx and Libertus are workin’ with a third operative,” Gladio continued, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He was the very picture of ease, Ignis thought - which might have been the point, were someone to notice their dalliance and decide it odd that the two of them were speaking. He adjusted his own posture accordingly, cocking one hip out to the side. “Her name’s Crowe Altius.”

“I’ve heard the name before,” Ignis replied, nodding. “Once or twice - a powerful magic user, yes?” A server passed them by, offering them champagne flutes, and Ignis took two, handing one to Gladio and keeping the other for himself. He didn’t particularly care for the drink himself, but again - appearances, and all.

“Thanks,” Gladio said, taking a sip and waiting for the waiter to wander off before saying more. “Yeah, that’s her. She was found outside the boundaries of the main camp this morning, half-dead.”

Ignis’ hand tightened on his glass. “ _What_?”

“Yeah. It was bad. She almost didn’t make it. Wouldn’t have if Nyx hadn’t found her.”

“Is she-?”

“She’ll live.” Gladio’s eyes flashed, half fire, half steel. “Barely.”

Ignis drank half his champagne in one gulp, ignoring the way the carbonation made his nose itch. “Gods,” he breathed. Gladio nodded, throwing the rest of his drink back and putting the empty glass on a table. “Have they any idea who would do such a thing? The Empire?”

“More likely it was the traitor,” Gladio replied. “She was on the wrong side of the camp for it to be one of the Nif’s.”

“Dammit,” Ignis muttered.

He hadn’t known Crowe personally - she had had a reputation as a bit of a loner, and being several years older than Ignis, they’d tended to run in different circles. Still, her esteem had preceded her, and Ignis could recognize what a blow this was. Crowe was one of their strongest - one of their best.

And she’d nearly been eliminated by the enemy.

“She’s out of commission until she’s recovered,” Gladio continued. “Drautos sent her to the field hospital on the west bank. Dad wanted me to know - told me to keep an even closer eye on things, y’know, since she can’t be there. Help Nyx and Libertus out, any way I can.” He looked over at Ignis, considering. “I thought you should know.”

Ignis blinked in surprise. “Me?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Gladio eyed him, quirking an eyebrow. “Why? That so weird? We’re partners on this, Ignis. I got some information that could help us out, I’m sharin’ it.”

Ignis nodded slowly. “Sensible,” he said.

Gladio snorted. “Y’know, you acting all surprised every time I do something that makes sense isn’t exactly making me like you any more,” he muttered. He said it with a bit of a grin though, softening his words and removing any bite from them.

“Well,” Ignis replied, cautious, “You _do_ do your best to ensure people believe you’re an idiot.”

Now it was Gladio’s turn to look surprised.

Ignis smirked. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed,” he drawled. “You’re purposefully obtuse, Gladio, not naturally.”

Gladio shrugged the accusation off. “It’s too easy,” he replied. “People see the muscles, and that’s it. Dad told me people used to think the same thing about him.”

Ignis’ eyebrows raised. “About Clarus?” he repeated.

“Oh, yeah. He said a lot of people thought Regis had lost his mind, asking a ‘dumb brute’ like that to be his head of security.” Gladio chuckled. “Joke’s on them, though. Dad’s sharp as they come.”

“A useful cover, I gather.”

“The best. People say a lotta stuff if they think you’re too stupid to be payin’ attention.”

That gave Ignis pause, and he wondered if perhaps _he_ had ever let something slip in front of Gladio that perhaps he shouldn’t have. It was a sobering thought, and for the second time in as many days, he realized he’d vastly underestimated the man standing across from him.

What else had he missed, while he was scowling at Gladio? What else was he wrong about?

“So.” Ignis looked up to see that Gladio had grabbed them two more flutes of champagne. He pressed one into Ignis’ empty hand, fingers warm where they brushed against Ignis’. “You packed yet?”

That… hadn’t been the question Ignis had been expecting. He frowned, caught off guard. “Packed?”

“Yeah, suitcases, bags, all that shit.” Gladio took a drink. “I guess you’re packin’ for Noct, too?”

“Well, he certainly can’t be trusted to do it himself,” Ignis replied.

Gladio chuckled. “Nah, guess not. I still gotta throw my stuff together.”

“Does throwing it help it fit into your suitcase?”

Gladio paused. “That a joke?” he asked.

“A poor one, but yes,” Ignis admitted.

To his surprise, Gladio smiled at him. “Nice to know you gotta sense of humor,” he said. “Sometimes I have my doubts.”

Ignis scowled, opening his mouth for a hasty retort - only to be cut off by Noctis, who poked his head into their alcove a moment later, frowning. “Gladio? Specs?” he asked. “What are you two doing back here?”

“Just talkin’,” Gladio replied. Ignis was grateful for his easy reply, his own thoughts too scattered by Gladio’s last words to have formed an excuse. “Why? That so weird?”

“Um, yeah, kinda,” Noct replied, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. “You aren’t, like, plotting, are you?”

“Plotting?” Ignis repeated. “What would be plotting?”

“I dunno, my imminent demise?” Noctis rolled his eyes, taking Ignis by the arm. “But forget that right now. I need you.”

“Whatever for?” Ignis asked, setting aside both champagne flutes and turning towards the prince.

“I need you to tell Lord Parnassus that I’m tired and can’t talk to his daughter. Oh, and then I think Lady Cordelia wanted me to meet _her_ daughter too. And if you can stand the smell-”

“Noct.” Ignis was fighting to hide a smile. “Are you hiding from potential suitors?”

“What? Me? No, never,” Noctis said, shaking his head.

“Sure seems like it,” Gladio added, shooting Ignis a grin over the prince’s head. Ignis met his gaze with a smirk.

“I’m _tired,_ and they’re pushy,” Noct whined.

“Noct, it’s your duty and responsibility to talk to these people,” Ignis reminded him. “Especially considering that you’re the focus of this particular event.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but c’mon Specs, I already gave my speech, and I've been doing the rounds for hours. We gotta leave early tomorrow, too. A guy needs his beauty sleep."

Gladio snorted. “You mean you aren’t gonna get your beauty sleep tomorrow, when you pass out in the car and drool all over the seat?”

Noctis made a face at him and then turned to Ignis, judging his opinion as the more important.

Ignis sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You must know I can't stop you from leaving, Noct,” he said quietly. “If you really wish to slip out, you can.”

Noct nodded.

“But you also must know the nobility will notice your absence - they'll have… certain opinions on why you couldn't be bothered to cater to their every whim.”

Again, Noct nodded, nonplussed.

Ignis raised both eyebrows. “That doesn't… concern you?”

Noctis sighed - it was a lengthy, drawn out noise, an ode to his somewhat put upon suffering. “ _Fine._ What if I make an address?” he asked. “So everyone knows I'm leaving. Nothing too involved,” he added, noticing the way Ignis had perked up at the word “address”.

Ignis considered this, and then nodded. “I think that would suffice,” he said. “Provided its sincere, of course.”

“‘Course it will be,” Noctis replied, grinning, “since you’re gonna help me come up with something.”

Ignis wished he was surprised at this turn of events.

He wasn’t.

Gladio chuckled as Noctis scampered off, no doubt to tell his father - or Prompto, as perhaps was more likely - the news of his impending retreat. Ignis turned towards him expectantly.

“Such a little shit,” he said fondly, shaking his head. He pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand by Ignis. “But he’s our little shit.” He blinked, and then frowned. “Yeah, that sounded better in my head.”

Ignis huffed out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Night, Ignis. See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early. Do you need a ride to the Citadel?”

Gladio, who had taken several steps forward, stopped in his tracks, looking back over his shoulders. “Hmm?”

“A ride,” Ignis repeated. “To the Citadel.” At Gladio’s blank look, he sighed and added, “Your apartment is en route to the Citadel. It would be no trouble at all for me to swing by and pick you up.”

Still, there was no response.

“Of course, if you’d rather drive yourself-”

“No.” Gladio shook his head, as if physically breaking free from his inaction. “No, that’d be… that’d be great.” He eyed Ignis, smiling tentatively. “Thanks.”

Ignis, who still wasn’t certain what had compelled him to make the offer, returned the gesture.  

“Of course.”

*

Gladio hated mornings.

They were cold and damp, and they always came too soon. Today especially, he grimaced, looking over at his bedroom window and noticing the sun hadn't even risen yet. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow, wishing he could stay for a few more hours. Hell, he'd take a few more minutes. But today they were supposed to leave for the border, and his dad would kill him if he was late.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom, wiping at his bleary eyes as he performed his morning routine.

Maybe he'd get to sleep in the car on the drive. Yeah, that wouldn't be so bad. He could lay back against the headrest, get a nap in while they drove across Lucis...

He snorted as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Yeah fucking right. Cars weren't really made for people his size to stretch out, and sleeping in them just wasn't an option. Besides, Ignis would be with him, and for some reason, Gladio didn't want to look like a slouch next to him.

He paused halfway through brushing his teeth, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Now why would that be? Why would he care what Ignis Scientia thought of him? He'd never given a rat’s ass about the guy’s opinion before.

But he supposed their interactions the past couple weeks had done a little to make Gladio want to befriend the guy. He'd gotten to see Ignis the person, instead of Ignis the stupidly competent retainer. He'd caught a few glimpses of what lay beneath the calm mask Ignis wore in public, and fuck him, but now Gladio wanted to actually _try_ to be nice.

Which meant making pleasant conversation about the scenery and discussing their upcoming responsibilities, not snoring in the backseat.

_Dammit._

Gladio scowled down at the sink as he packed away the last of his sundries, throwing them all into a little black bag that had come with his luggage.

He didn't know why he was even bothering, to be honest. Their brief, out of office meetings aside, Ignis had given him no indication that he felt any differently towards Gladio than he always had. He'd been more polite, sure, and he'd actually smiled at Gladio once or twice last night, but that didn't count, right? They'd been discussing work - it was easier to put aside personal feelings when talking about something like that. And for another thing, he'd stopped actively trying to goad Ignis into snapping at him.

That always helped, if a polite conversation was the end goal.

Just a little.

Still, he mused, wandering out into his bedroom and throwing on a fresh change of clothes, he wanted to try. He wanted to be nice to the guy for a change and see what happened. Who knew, maybe something good would come of it. Gladio could always use another friend, and hey, a new sparring partner wouldn't hurt.

 _If he's stopped being an ass about it, that is,_ he thought, snorting. He'd not forgotten the time Ignis had decked him in the training hall, sucker punching him right in the jaw.

Hell no.

You didn't just forget something like that.

But they'd been small then, just kids, Ignis barely coming up to Gladio's shoulder, and hey, maybe Gladio had been being a dick - he couldn't remember, honestly, but he wouldn't have put it past his thirteen year old self. Surely Ignis didn't try to pull that kinda crap _now._ He'd heard rumors about the guy's skills, about how he could do flips halfway across the room, land in a crouch, and fucking hamstring you before you knew what had happened.

Anyone who could do that with a fucking knife was good. Really good. So maybe extending the invite wasn't a bad idea at all.

If Ignis wasn't gonna be a prick about it, of course.

Gladio's phone buzzed then, distracting him from throwing a few last things into his suitcase. He frowned as he walked over to pick it up, wondering who would possibly be texting him this early.

He grinned when he saw the name on the screen.

**9/5, 5:31 a.m. < Curio > Good morning. I hope I haven't woken you. I wanted to wish you well before you left the city and lost cell phone service. **

**9/5, 5:32 a.m. < Scipio > Nah, you didn't wake me. What about you, though? Bit early, isn't it? **

**9/5, 5:32 a.m. < Curio > Nonsense, I always get up this early. **

**9/5, 5:33 a.m. < Scipio > …**

**9/5, 5:33 a.m. < Curio > It's amazing what one can do if one rises with the sun instead of several hours afterwards. **

**9/5, 5:34 a.m. < Scipio > You're insane. **

**9/5, 5:34 a.m. < Scipio > Also, the sun ain’t out yet. **

**9/5, 5:35 a.m. < Curio > I prefer the term restless.  **

**9/5, 5:35 a.m. < Curio > But I hardly messaged you just to debate the finer points of our circadian rhythms. I wanted to tell you that I hope your trip is pleasant and uneventful. **

Gladio snorted. Yeah, he hoped it was uneventful too.

The most uneventful trip any of them had ever been on, if they were lucky. If they were unlucky… well, shit, they'd probably be dead. Or worse, in the hands of the Empire.

His phone buzzed again and Gladio flicked down to see the new message.

**9/5, 5:36 a.m. < Curio > I'll miss you. **

For the first time that morning, Gladio smiled.

**9/5, 5:36 a.m. < Scipio > Yeah? How much?**

**9/5, 5:37 a.m. < Curio > More than I likely should, given how long we've known each other. It's strange, isn't it? To think you can come to know a stranger in such a short amount of time? **

**9/5, 5:38 a.m. < Curio > I fear I’ve expressed that sentiment before. It’s still true.**

**9/5, 5:38 a.m. < Scipio > I hear you. You know me better than half my friends. **

**9/5, 5:39 a.m. < Scipio > And not just because, you know… I've jacked off just thinking of you. **

**9/5, 5:40 a.m. < Curio > Romantic. **

**9/5, 5:40 a.m. < Curio > I'd tease you more if I weren't in the same position. **

Gladio was halfway through typing a flirty response when there was a knock at his door. “Shit,” he breathed, grabbing his bags and heading for the door. That had to be Ignis, here to drive him to the Citadel. Gladio had lost track of the time while he was texting, and he rushed to throw on his shoes and jacket even as he tried to cram the last of his clothes into his bag.

There was a second, less patient knock, and Gladio shoved his phone in his pocket after a brief, “Gotta go.” He hoped Curio didn't think it was too abrupt. Ah, it probably was, fuck. Well, he'd apologize later, once they were in the car. He'd tell him he'd been running late for his ride.

Gladio flung the door open just as Ignis made to knock a third time. His hand was half-raised in the air, fingers curled into a fist. He blinked at Gladio's sudden appearance, hand falling limply to his side.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Gladio stilled, Ignis’ calm demeanor giving him pause. What, no berating him for taking so long to answer the door? No lecture on punctuality?

Huh.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Ignis waited for him to lock up, and then led the way to where his car was parked. Gladio threw his bags into the back before sliding into the passenger seat, stretching his legs out as far as they'd go. The car smelled like coffee, and he breathed in deep, appreciating the smell on such an early morning. He wasn't one for the stuff most days, but right now? Coffee didn't sound so bad.

“Here.”

Gladio blinked as Ignis pushed a cup into his hands. “What's this?” he asked, looking down and trying to discern what was inside. It smelled heavenly, of chocolate and hazelnut and something vaguely sweet.

“I didn't know how you prefer your coffee, so I took the barista’s recommendation.”

“You… bought me coffee?”

“For Noctis and Prompto as well, though I doubt Noct will drink any.”

Gladio brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip. It tasted just as good as it smelled, and he couldn't help the small sigh of contentment that left his lips.

“It's good,” he said. “Really good.” He cracked a smile, hoping Ignis wouldn't brush him off. “Thanks.”

Ignis said nothing, merely nodding and beginning to back the car of its spot.

Gladio watched him covertly as they made their way back onto the main road, hands still cupped around his coffee. There was something about the way Ignis was acting, he’d decided. Something… strange. First, he’d not bothered to snap at Gladio for being late. Then he’d gone and bought him coffee?

“It’s impolite to stare.”

Gladio blinked. “Sorry,” he said, the apology falling from his lips almost unconsciously.

“Have I something on my face?”

“What? No.” Gladio shook his head.

“Then might I inquire as to what’s captured your attention?”

Gladio hesitated, wondering how to put it. “Have you… uh…” He broke off, clearing his throat. “You feelin’ okay?”

Ignis shot him a confused look. “I feel fine,” he replied.

“‘Cause it’s just - you’re actin’ kinda strange.”

“Strange?”

“Buying me coffee?” Gladio asked, holding up the travel cup. “Not yellin’ at me for being late?”

“Ah.”

It was all he said, and Gladio wondered if he had been meant to get something else out of that.

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” He snorted, shaking his head.

“What do you want me to say, Gladio?” Ignis retorted. “I apologize for startling you, if that’s what you wish to hear.”

“I just wanna know why you’re actin’ so-”

“I am _not_ acting odd,” Ignis huffed. He paused, pursing his lips. “Though I suppose it could be said that I am in a decidedly good mood.”

Gladio blinked. “You’re happy.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And this is what you do when you’re happy?”

“Is it so bad to be generous?”

“No.”

“Then I believe this inane conversation has run its course.”

Like hell it had.

“What’re you so happy about then? Something got your hopes up?”

“Not something,” Ignis admitted, a smirk turning the corners of his lips up.

Gladio could read between the lines. He raised his eyebrows, whistling. "Some _one_ then?” he asked. Ignis nodded, though he kept his eyes glued to the road ahead of them. “Hot damn!” Gladio said, clapping Ignis on the back. He jolted at the touch, as if no one had ever done such a thing to him before. And maybe they hadn’t, Gladio thought, easing his hand off when he felt how tense Ignis was. “So? Who’s the lucky guy?”

Ignis eyed him askance. “Who said it was a man?”

“Is it a girl?”

“...no.”

“Then who’s the lucky guy?”

Ignis huffed. “You’re impossible, Gladiolus.”

Gladio grinned. “Back at you, Iggy.”

“Iggy?” Ignis muttered the word under his breath, once, twice, three times, as if he were testing it out. “Iggy. _Iggy._ ” After the third time, he nodded to himself and shrugged, and Gladio took it for acceptance. It had been a whim, honestly; the nickname had just kinda popped out of his mouth. But it fit, he thought.

In some weird way, it just seemed… right.

Gladio grinned, making himself a little more comfortable in the chair.

“So… you gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to drag it outta you?”

Ignis sighed. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

“Maybe.”

Ignis muttered something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like “stubborn ass”.

“What was that?” Gladio asked.

“Nothing.”

Gladio laughed, much harder and longer than he should have. After a few moments, Ignis joined in, chuckling to himself as he turned into the Citadel’s parking structure. He was so busy laughing, in fact, that he forgot to continue pestering Ignis about his boyfriend.

Ah, well, he mused, hopping out of the car and grabbing for his bags.

Plenty of time for that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't kill Crowe, even if it would've been canon compliant. just couldn't do her like that *aggressive middle finger to Square for killing her off*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK ME I FINISHED THIS GODDAMN CHAPTER
> 
> I'd like to thank this plate of Totino's pizza rolls I ate while writing the last bits of this - thanks for getting me through this, you delicious little bastards.

The front was... different than Ignis had expected.

He had been prepared for organized chaos, a maze of tents and hastily constructed command centers connected by well worn, muddy paths. Instead, it was just plain organized, rows upon rows of plain canvas tents circling outward from a two-story central tower. Around the camp was a wall perhaps ten feet high, soldiers stationed every hundred feet or so along the parapets. They were the finest Lucian watchmen, the sun gleaming on their steel armor as they stood sentry night and day.

Another wall ran the length of the Lucian border, this one made of concrete and barbed wire where the first was heavy wood and metal. It was heavily battered, broken clean through in some places - the Empire’s work, no doubt. When Ignis had first seen it, he'd voiced the thought that the holes should be mended; he saw no reason to make it easier for the Magitek troopers to cross into Lucian territory. But Cor had explained that they simply didn't have the men to spare. Better to save their energy for battle, he'd said, than to spend it hauling rocks around.

Besides, the Marshal had added, his lips a grim line, the enemy troopers just stormed the barrier anyways. Either by making makeshift ramps of their fallen comrades or forcibly making one of their number explode and tear a new hole in the concrete, they got across one way or another.

Luckily, the Empire hadn't seen fit to attack the main camp since Noctis had arrived several days ago. Ignis had slept fitfully each night, wondering if he'd be awoken by the alarms, calling him to alertness to protect the prince and get him to safety. But the attack he was dreading never came, and instead, he just woke tired each day, fatigued from anticipation. 

“How's this?”

Ignis blinked, turning back to Noctis. The prince had pushed a stack of papers forward, leaning back in his chair.

“You're finished?” Ignis asked.

“Did what I could,” Noct replied, shrugging. He tossed the pen to Ignis, grinning. “Bet it'll be better when you're done with it.”

Ignis sighed. “I can't write your speeches for you forever, Noct,” he admonished.

“Don’t think of it as writing,” Noct retorted, “Think of it as... editing.”

“Semantics.”

“C’mon, just read it,” Noct said. “I don't think it's _that_ bad.”

Ignis obeyed, eyes moving slowly over the pages to make sure he didn't miss anything. True to Noct’s word, it _wasn't_ bad - it wouldn't win him any awards anytime soon, but there was heart in it, true feeling, and that, Ignis supposed, was just as important as the content itself. Perhaps even more so, considering his audience.

These were soldiers Noct was addressing - men and women who had spent their lives fighting a war they weren't sure would ever end. They hardly wanted to hear trite platitudes about how appreciated their service was, or how their sacrifices were keeping Insomnia safe.

No. They deserved better. And perhaps Noctis, who had never been one to pontificate, was well suited for that sort of thing.

“So?”

“A few changes, I think,” Ignis replied, clicking the pen in his hand and making a note of the time at the top of the first page. “But the bare bones are good.”

Noct sighed in relief. “Cool. Been working on that thing for _days_.”

Ignis’ lips quirked in amusement, but he kept his jibe about Noct’s hyperbole to himself. “I'll have this back to you later this afternoon,” he said instead. “A few final edits, and we'll have it ready for tomorrow.”

Noctis scrunched his nose up at the mention of his scheduled formal address. Ignis raised an eyebrow at him. “Nervous?” he guessed.

“A bit…”

“I would tell you not to be, but I fear that telling someone not to be nervous is as about useful as a sleeveless sweater.”

Noct snorted. “I keep telling you, Specs, they're for _fashion.”_

“And I keep telling you they're ridiculous.”

“Looking good is never ridiculous.”

“I could show you several pictures of past Lucian fashion trends that beg to differ. I believe codpieces were in style several hundred years ago.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Noct said. “Gross.” He stood then, shrugging back into his jacket. “Hey, is it alright if I go find Prompto? Promised him we'd go to the shooting range.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks,” Noct said, flashing Ignis a rare smile. “Later.”

Ignis watched him go, not allowing himself to break his gaze until the prince was completely gone from his field of view, disappeared into the tent he was sharing with Prompto. To gather his things, no doubt. When he emerged, a moment later, Ignis saw the blonde emerge with him, and he allowed himself to relax, sinking down into his chair in relief.

Noctis wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

Just _being_ here made Ignis agitated. He felt exposed, open to attack on all sides, and he found himself constantly looking over his shoulders in worry. He knew that they were taking every precaution they could - Prompto was at Noct's side night and day, Cor himself watched over him every night, and Gladio and Ignis were ever in his wake. If anything should attempt, should anyone even  _attempt_ to harm the prince, the four of them would put a stop to it. Even if they had to give their lives to do so, they would protect Noctis.

He knew this, down to his very bones.

Still. He feared he couldn’t help but worry.

“Hey.”

Ignis shifted, turning to face the door at the sound of Gladio’s voice. “Back so soon?”

Gladio snorted, rubbing the mud from his boots on the wiry mat at the door. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Nothing to report.”

Ignis grimaced. Gladio had left earlier that morning, Nyx and Libertus in tow, to see the place where Crowe had been found. What information they’d hoped to find, Ignis wasn’t sure, but it had seemed as good a place as any to start looking for clues about her attack.

Apparently, their search had been in vain.

“The whole area’s been scrubbed clean,” Gladio continued, finally walking over and sinking down into a chair beside Ignis. “Nothing out of the ordinary - not even a fucking twig.”

“You think someone’s covered their tracks?”

“For sure. And they knew what they were doing, too. No blood, no fabric, no footprints… it’s almost like they _wanted_ Crowe to be found, honestly.”

Ignis frowned, not liking what Gladio was suggesting. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it,” Gladio murmured, lowering his voice a little as a couple of soldiers walked by. He was careful to keep his expression nonchalant, pretending to stare down at a scratch on the back of his hand, but Ignis could see his eyes tracking the men as they moved, watchful and wary. He spoke again a moment later, lips barely moving.

“No evidence of a crime. No one heard anything, no one saw anything. But Crowe just shows up the next morning, half-dead? C’mon.” Gladio shook his head. “A fight like that, you have signs of a struggle. And Crowe’s not weak - she’d fight back, with everything she had. Means she wasn’t attacked there - she was _put_ there.”

“A warning,” Ignis mused. “A warning to anyone else who might interfere.”

“Exactly.” Gladio sat back in the chair, putting his hands behind his head.

“But who is the warning _for_?”

“Specifically? Dunno. In general? The King, his generals, anyone on his side.” He shrugged. “I'm more concerned with who left it, to be honest.”

“Agreed,” Ignis murmured.

It was their highest priority, apart from keeping Noctis safe - find the mole in the army’s ranks. Of only slightly lesser importance, find whoever had attacked Crowe. They were likely one and the same. Unless, of course, there was more than one enemy in their midst. Ignis had to admit it was a possibility, much as the thought of a team of spies infiltrating the Lucian army made him itch with worry. It was a possibility they had to take very seriously.

He mentioned this to Gladio, and Gladio nodded. “I've thought as much,” he admitted.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Scares the shit out of me. One person is bad enough. But two, three? More?” He shook his head. “It gets harder and harder to take ‘em out, the more of ‘em there are. But…”

Ignis cocked an eyebrow curiously, interested in what Gladio thought to be the silver lining in this situation.

“The more people that are involved, the more likely they are to mess something up. And when they do-”

“We’ll be ready.”

Gladio shot him a brief, fierce grin before looking away a moment later, features slipping back into a more neutral expression as he made himself at ease.

Ignis had to give him credit - Gladio had clearly thought this out. Gone was the brash, impulsive man he thought he’d known back in the Citadel, the one who relied on instinct, emotional intelligence, and years of training to survive less than ideal situations. He’d been replaced with a thoughtful, cautious individual who looked before he spoke and missed nothing - someone not unlike Ignis himself, if he were being honest.  

Ignis wasn't sure if he found that pleasing or discomfiting.

“You're starin’ again.”

Ignis blinked, drawn out of his thoughts by Gladio's amused tone. He was leaning towards Ignis, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It gave him a roguish look - one that wasn't entirely unappealing, if Ignis were honest.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the way his cheeks felt hot. He hoped that they weren’t as flushed as they felt. “Apologies,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“You were thinkin’ awful hard, then.”

Ignis ignored the insinuation. “You're very good at this, Gladio.”

Gladio blinked, smile slipping a bit. “This?” he asked.

“ _This,”_ Ignis replied, motioning to the room. “Knowing what to do in this sort of situation, keeping your information to yourself, always thinking two steps ahead… I'm impressed.”

Gladio snorted. “Not bad for a university dropout who joined the Crownsguard as soon as he was legal, huh?”

Ignis paused, frowning. “I… I didn't know you had dropped out,” he said quietly.

It wasn't something he'd given a lot of thought. He'd always assumed Gladio simply hadn't gone to college when he'd turned eighteen. He had had a career ahead of him, a path he'd been set on when he was just a boy. What use would an academic degree have been?

 _Stop it,_ he chastised himself. _Perhaps he wanted to study for no other reason than because he wanted to do so._

And what was wrong with that? Nothing at all. 

“I didn't _want_ to quit,” Gladio explained, shifting in his chair. Was he uncomfortable discussing the subject, Ignis wondered? He didn't want to force Gladio into speaking. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize, when Gladio spoke again. “I loved the classes, my professors, learning... Doesn’t seem like me, right?”

“I…”

“Nah, don’t answer. I’m only joking. Anyways - I made it a couple months before I had to quit. Almost to the end of the semester, but I left before the marks could go on my record. Y’know - in case I ever wanted to go back.”

“Why did you leave?”

Gladio hesitated a moment. Then he smiled, and Ignis thought it rather sad. “Iris needed me,” he said quietly.

...ah.

Ignis thought he understood then - he'd seen the relationship the two Amiticia siblings shared. It was bond like none other, and Ignis was certain there was nothing Gladio wouldn't do for his younger sister. If she had needed him…

“It was around the time the war started takin’ a turn for the worse,” Gladio continued. “Dad started having to work more - he didn't get home ‘til midnight, had to work weekends, never had any free time… Iris was only ten. She didn't understand why he was suddenly gone when he’d always been there before. And for me to suddenly be out of the picture too…” He shook his head. “I had to quit, Iggy. She needed someone, anyone, to be there for her. So I made sure that someone was me.”

Ignis pursed his lips, uncertain of what to say. “Do you…” he tried, “...regret leaving?”

“I miss it,” Gladio said. “But I don't regret doing what I did. It was the right move. Besides,” he added, “I can always try again someday.”

It was thoughtful of Gladio - selfless, even. Ignis had to wonder - would he have done such a thing? For Noctis, surely, but if he had had a sibling? He liked to think he would have, but still, doubt remained.

He cleared his throat, eager to push his unpleasant thoughts to the side. “If you wish, I, ah… know a few people in the university registrar’s office,” he said. “Men and women I met when Noctis began his studies. I could… speak to them for you, if you ever wished to pick up where you left off.”

He wasn’t sure why he was offering. Gladio was intelligent and rich, with a family name nearly as old as that of the King himself. In short, he wasn’t the sort of person who would have any trouble getting into whatever university he wished to attend. And yet, he felt compelled to make the offer nonetheless.

Whatever his hesitations, Gladio didn’t seem put off by the idea. “Really?” he asked, smile slowly returning to his lips. “You’d do that? For me?”

Ignis nodded. “If you wish.”

“Yeah, that’d be… that’d be great, Iggy.” He paused, considering something. “You sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind?”

“My -”

“Just seems like a lot to do for a guy like me.”

“A guy like you?” Ignis repeated, confused.

“You barely know me.”

“I think I know you well enough at this point to consider you a friend,” Ignis said. "Would you disagree?"

“No, no, fair enough,” Gladio replied. “Just thought I’d ask. Don’t want to… step in something.”

Ignis frowned, confused by the sudden direction the conversation had taken. “And just what do you think you would be stepping into?” he asked.

Gladio eyed him. “Well, you haven’t exactly told me a lot about this guy - and not for lack of trying on my part.” Ignis rolled his eyes; that, at least, was the honest truth. He wasn’t quite sure how Gladio managed it, but every conversation the two of them had had over the past few days had somehow, almost inexorably, steered back towards their love lives. Gladio was nothing if not persistent, and he seemed determined to get the truth from Ignis.

“So, I dunno,” Gladio continued, “If he’s the jealous type, and doing something like this for me would cause problems-”

“It won’t.”

“You sure? I mean… this is a big favor, and-”

“And what, Gladio?”

Gladio leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the table. “I have a bit of a reputation, Iggy,” he admitted. “And I know why you’re doing this, that it isn’t because we’re fucking or anything, it ain’t that kind of favor - but I don’t want to mess up a good thing.”

A nervous thrill shot down Ignis' spine at the mention of the two of them fucking, and he irritably pushed it aside. Gladio wasn't interested in him that way, and even if he was, Ignis had someone waiting for him at home. He shouldn't be so happy at the thought of Gladio pushing him down into a mattress with those surprisingly gentle hands of his, of Gladio kissing him senseless and then swallowing him whole.

It didn't stop the images from coming to mind.

He forced out a laugh, forcing the thoughts away. Halfway through the motion, the laughter became real, the impossibility of Gladio ever wanting to fuck him completely ridiculous, and Gladio frowned at him.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing,” Ignis clarified, waving a hand. “It’s just - well, you seem to be implying that I would either make my lover jealous or become fodder for the Citadel gossips - as if I cared a whit about the latter, and the first being completely ridiculous.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll give you one out of two - I know you ain’t one for gossip. But you haven’t heard the things they say about me.”

“Are they true?”

“...kinda.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow, allowing himself to smirk at Gladio’s discomfort. “Well, now I’m just curious.”

“Look, I get around, sure - no shame in that. But I won’t date more’n one person at one time, and I’d never cheat on someone I was in a relationship with, regardless of what people say. I'm not that kinda guy. Plus I’m not _nearly_ as kinky as people say I am.”

“How disappointing that must be.”

Gladio snorted. “For them, maybe,” he said. “Not to anyone who matters.”

“Like your boyfriend.”

“Yeah. Like him.” A moment later, he added, “Well, we haven’t actually gotten to the kinky parts yet. Haven’t really had a lot of face-to-face time, to be honest.”

Ignis tried not to let his surprise show in his voice. “No?” he asked.

“We met at a party, traded numbers. But since then, shit’s been busy, so we’ve mostly called or texted the other.”

Ignis paused, uncertain. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, nothing unordinary about the tale. And yet...

“Interesting,” he mused.

“What is?”

“That’s much the story of how I met my lover.”

“Y’know, that’s twice now you’ve called him that.”

Ignis frowned. “And?”

Gladio shrugged. “Never heard you call him that before,” he said. He hesitated, eyeing Ignis speculatively, and then plunged ahead. “Something happen recently?”

Not at all - rather the opposite was true, in fact. He hadn’t managed to speak to Scipio since they’d arrived. For one thing, the phone reception was spotty at best, and the military’s machines took up most of the available bandwidth. For another, he’d had other things on his mind - Noctis’ safety, for instance, and discovering who this would-be killer was. He would’ve felt guilty, if he hadn’t known that Scipio was more than likely just as busy, and just as committed, to his work as Ignis was.

“Iggy?”

Ignis sighed. “I suppose I’ve simply accepted the obvious,” he replied. “He and I are in a relationship - of sorts. Like you and your partner, we haven’t exactly sat down and had that conversation yet.”

Gladio grinned. “Better get our acts in gear, huh? Before they tired of waiting on us.” He sat back in the chair again, once more the picture of ease. “So tell me, what’s his name? You said he works security, yeah? Got that much outta you at least. Maybe I know him.”

Ignis hesitated.

Scipio’s true name - it should have come to his lips easily. But he had always insisted on secrecy, always wanted the extra caution of his identity not being revealed if things had gone wrong.

He didn’t know his lover’s name. Gladio wouldn’t know who he was.

Gladio _couldn’t_ know who he was.

“I call him Sc-”

Ignis jumped as the door to the room banged open, Gladio mirroring his actions a few feet away. They both rose to their feet when Cor  strode into the room, fists clenched at his sides.

“Cor-”

The Marshal cut him off with a single glance, turning to shut the door behind him. “We need to talk,” he said, flicking the lock on the door. “Alone.”

Panic flooded through Ignis, and he took a half-step forward. “Noctis-”

“Is safe,” Cor said, guessing at Ignis’ question before it had managed to fully form.

“Then what is this about?” Gladio asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cor-”

“There’s been another attack.”

Ignis froze, the heat of panic turning to ice in his veins at the Marshal’s words. “Who?” he asked, voice surprisingly hoarse.

“That’s the thing,” Cor said grimly, mouth a tight line. “We don’t know.”  

* * * * *

“Any word?”

Clarus hesitated, and Regis knew he had his answer.

He sighed, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. It had only been a week, and it was difficult to get secure messages to and from the front - there was no need to get apprehensive just yet. He knew that. He _knew_ it. And yet he worried just the same.

Beside him, the couch dipped as Clarus took a seat, and Regis opened his eyes, turning towards his friend. “I miss him, Clarus,” he murmured. “More than I thought I would.”

“It’s strange,” Clarus agreed. “The house is quiet without Gladiolus around.”

Regis frowned. “He still lives with you?”

Clarus shook his head, snorting. “Not hardly,” he replied. “Moved out the day he turned eighteen. Wouldn’t even let me help him move. Stubborn boy. But he does come over frequently - mostly to visit Iris.”

“They’re close.”

“Very.”

“I always wished that we’d been able to have a second child - Aulea and I,” Regis murmured. “A sibling for Noctis - someone who would understand what he was going through, what it meant to be the child of the King.”

It was an old wound, one that had never fully healed. Clarus knew it well, having been friends with the both of them long before he had become Regis’ lover.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, his voice gentle.

Regis turned towards him, giving him a sad smile.

“It wasn’t either of your faults - yours or Aulea’s,” Clarus continued, more firmly this time. “Some things just aren’t meant to be. Besides - he has Ignis. He has Prompto. And he has my son. They might not share the same genes, but - well, you hardly need me to tell you this, Reggie.”

Regis reached out, grabbing for Clarus’ hand. He twined their fingers together, grimacing at how thin the skin appeared. Like paper, he thought - fragile, white paper, blue veins spiderwebbed across the surface.

“I do know that,” he murmured. “And I’m incredibly grateful for all of them. They love him, Clarus - as much as if they really were his brothers.” He smiled, curling his fingers a little tighter. “I'm glad Noctis has them at his side. I can't ask any more of them than that.”

Clarus cleared his throat. “Well, you could, in Argentum’s case, at least-”

 _“_ Why Clarus, I didn’t take you for an idle _gossip,”_ Regis insisted, feigning offense at the insinuation. “That’s pure speculation, that is.”

Clarus laughed. “Bullshit, it’s speculation. I caught them in the closet in your office -”

“The _closet_?” Regis paused, thinking.

“Saw their feet through the bottom crack.”

Regis hung his head, barely holding back his laughter. When he’d gotten ahold of himself, he looked over at Clarus. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

Clarus snorted. “Next time, tell him about the bedroom closet,” he muttered. “It’s bigger.”

Silence fell between them, and for a moment, it was enough. It was plenty for Regis to imagine his son, to see in his mind’s eye how happy he had been the night before he had left for the front. He’d smiled quite a bit that evening, more than Regis was used to seeing him smile. As he seemed to recall, Prompto had been by his side for much of the evening.

Not likely to be a coincidence, that.

“I’ll have to talk to him when he gets back,” he murmured. “If he’s serious about Prompto… well, maybe we can finally be rid of all of these marriage contracts. Terrible, all of them - and always those hidden clauses they think they can slip past me.” He shook his head. “No, I think not. Perhaps it will be easier this way.”

“Perhaps.”

It didn’t sound as if Clarus agreed with him, but Regis didn’t press the point. “When he gets back,” he murmured again, nodding to himself. “When he…”

Unexpectedly, his throat seized up, and his lips snapped shut, unable to form the last words of his sentence. Noctis _would_ return - he would. He _would._ The idea that he wouldn’t, that something would happen on this excursion to the war zone, was unthinkable, a thought Regis hardly dared give voice to, lest it become reality -

Clarus squeezed his hand, drawing him from rapidly darkening thoughts. “He’ll come back, Reggie. I promise.”

Regis nodded, pressing in a little closer to his friend’s side.

“Noctis will come home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, feedback is much loved and appreciated :)


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